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The boat easily carried all the things they had brought. Jerry took particular care in stowing away a box which he had hung onto jealously since they started. It was rather a mysterious looking case about which he had volunteered no information. Up to this time Bob had not questioned him, although he had wondered what was in it. However, as Jerry reserved the safest and dryest part of the boat for it Bob ventured to ask what it was.,

They were coming all right. But for the time he was holding his own and even doing a little better. They had raced their horses from the ranch in their endeavor to catch up with him, while he had only ambled along over the same distance. He exulted as he realized the distance was rapidly growing greater between them.,

So cleverly had Feather-in-the-Wind secreted himself at the top of the rise that Bob was about to crawl over him, thinking it was a fallen log that obstructed his path. Stifling an exclamation, he lay still. The Indian did not show any signs of annoyance that his orders had been disobeyed and when he started to wriggle into a position from which he could see the other side of the hill, by a move of the hand he invited the boy to follow.,

When he reported to the Chief he found that all danger was past and the gang at work making a permanent repair of the damage.

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“Of course, Dad, I don’t mean to go until we’ve had a chance to see each other. If you could only come out to Crossways for the next week or two it would be great! That way, we could visit and still I could get out on the job just as soon as possible. I don’t want Whiskers to fill my place just because I don’t show up. But I’ll come up to New York—”,

“Will you? That would be great!”,

When the marchioness learned the fate of Hippolitus, the resentment of jealous passion yielded to emotions of pity. Revenge was satisfied, and she could now lament the sufferings of a youth whose personal charms had touched her heart as much as his virtues had disappointed her hopes. Still true to passion, and inaccessible to reason, she poured upon the defenceless Julia her anger for that calamity of which she herself was the unwilling cause. By a dextrous adaptation of her powers, she had worked upon the passions of the marquis so as to render him relentless in the pursuit of ambitious purposes, and insatiable in revenging his disappointment. But the effects of her artifices exceeded her intention in exerting them; and when she meant only to sacrifice a rival to her love, she found she had given up its object to revenge.,

“What the dickens do you mean by not reporting this morning? Just because Mr. Whitney is away, do you think you can take a vacation when you feel like it? And King, too; wait till I get hold of him! But what have you got to say for yourself, young man?”