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At this they all laughed again. There was a very wet place on the wharf where the clothes had lain. “Yes, there is something—something perfectly dreadful, Mother, but I’ve got to tell you about it.” “He breathes so queerly,” said Johnny Blossom..

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The obscurity of the place prevented Hippolitus from distinguishing the features of the dying man. From the blood which covered him, and from the surrounding circumstances, he appeared to be murdered; and the count had no doubt that the men he beheld were the murderers. The horror of the scene entirely overcame him; he stood rooted to the spot, and saw the assassins rifle the pockets of the dying person, who, in a voice scarcely articulate, but which despair seemed to aid, supplicated for mercy. The ruffians answered him only with execrations, and continued their plunder. His groans and his sufferings served only to aggravate their cruelty. They were proceeding to take from him a miniature picture, which was fastened round his neck, and had been hitherto concealed in his bosom; when by a sudden effort he half raised himself from the ground, and attempted to save it from their hands. The effort availed him nothing; a blow from one of the villains laid the unfortunate man on the floor without motion. The horrid barbarity of the act seized the mind of Hippolitus so entirely, that, forgetful of his own situation, he groaned aloud, and started with an instantaneous design of avenging the deed. The noise he made alarmed the banditti, who looking whence it came, discovered the count through the casement. They instantly quitted their prize, and rushed towards the door of the room. He was now returned to a sense of his danger, and endeavoured to escape to the exterior part of the ruin; but terror bewildered his senses, and he mistook his way. Instead of regaining the arch-way, he perplexed himself with fruitless wanderings, and at length found himself only more deeply involved in the secret recesses of the pile. “Are you crazy? He rode only yesterday, John.” “Well, if that isn’t the greatest I ever heard in all my days,” said Olea. “However, I don’t believe it. It is just some of your tomfoolery, John, you rascal.” The way Mr. Whitney answered was encouraging, so Bob came back, “Yes, sir, I’d like to know a lot more about it than I do. Anything you tell me is going to help. I’ve picked up a little here and there and know some of the details but I don’t really know anything about the general plan. Wasn’t there any irrigation on the Rio Grande before the Reclamation Service took hold?”.