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It was Miguel Philipe, who during the excitement had been left lying bound in the bushes where the Indian had dumped him. When he was brought under the light of the porch, he was a sorry looking specimen. He had been unable to defend himself from the insects and his face was puffed and mottled and his eyes almost closed. “You must be a tenderfoot,” the other said pityingly. “It’s this way. My father raises cattle. For cattle, you need the range on which they feed and which has been free to all. About all the range there is around here is along the banks of the river. Now this irrigation business comes along and the Government won’t let anybody have more than 160 acres of land. Then my Dad has got to get rid of all his cattle and go to farmin’—which is pretty nigh as disgraceful for a cattleman as sheep-keeping. That is, of course, if he wants to stay around this part of the country.” CHAPTER XII.
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Billy had been a sport! He had shot Bob just as far over as he could and the boy was correspondingly grateful. “Get up now,” said Mother. “Thank you, Uncle Isaac. Good-by.” With this Johnny Blossom bowed and vanished. “The umbrella blew away, Mother, and the boat is lost, too.”.
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