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“About six hours on the train,” was the answer. “We ought to be able to find a boat when we get there. If we’re going to do it at all we’ve got to start in a hurry. Otherwise we won’t be back here when the Chief’s telegram is due. That is,” he added, “if we live to get the Chief’s telegram.” “You bet,” Jerry said quickly. “Don’t you think he’s had enough, Boss Whitney?” “But this—this is serious,” cried the boy. “Rules don’t count! They’ve got to have him!”.

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Oh, Bob, Bob! And he, who was heir of Kingthorpe, had abused the little horse! What would Uncle Isaac say if he knew? And now he could never ride horseback any more! Oh—oh—oh! He must go home and tell Mother. It was dreadful to do it, but he must, he must. “At first it does, but the plan is that farmers who use irrigated lands must pay a water tax which will eventually repay the Government the amount of money it has invested. On some projects the farmers have entirely repaid the Government. On others it will be years before the money is finally returned.” The possibility of getting free intoxicated him and on hands and knees he searched the floor. There were other sticks. Evidently the horse thief had been given a fire and it had only been put out when he was taken away for the last time—probably to the nearest tree high enough to swing a man clear of the ground. Besides this, to Bob’s great delight, a little pile of unburnt wood was stacked in one corner. He wondered why he had not stumbled over them when he first made the circuit of the hut. This boat that he was making was going to be a fine one—Johnny Blossom held it out and peered sharply at it, first lengthwise, then sidewise—the finest boat any one had ever whittled. Every one who saw it would say, “Who made that beautiful, graceful boat?” Well, here was the boy who could do it!.