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“The Chief!” he heard Jerry pant as the footsteps ended in the hall. “Where is he?”,This last insinuation, he flatters himself, is rather cleverly introduced.,It was the family Bible. She had placed it there after reading her son Anson his evening chapter. Slowly she mastered herself and sank back into her chair.,The little pathetic insinuation is as perfect as it is touching.,He threw himself down behind a wild rosebush. They would probably sail away soon and then he could go down after his clothes. Pretty lucky to have got away from that cross merchant! Eric had always said he was an awfully cross man.,And ne'er made sie anither,",“That’s great!” said Jerry, who had experience enough to know that a great honor had been conferred on his Chief. The Rio Grande project was the biggest thing the Service had yet attempted and to be in charge of it was equivalent to a high promotion.,Dead silence for a long time.,Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and forsaken. It lay like a festering sore on the breast of the world—black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of winter did not freeze.,Her eyes fill with tears.,He tried to hold it from falling, but could not. It seemed as if his arms would be pulled out of their sockets. It would fall short—he must hold on to it, not let it strike below, for the noise would betray them too soon; and—the men in the wagon were passing!,"Only he can't prove it, kin he?".