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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Golden Snare"

All but the three last cartridges
went day before yesterday. Yesterday everything quiet. On the edge
of starvation this morning when I went out on scout duty and to
take a chance at game. Surprised a couple of them carrying meat
and had a tall fight. Others hove into action and I had to use two
of my cartridges. One left--and they're showing themselves because
they know we don't dare to use ammunition at long range. My
caliber is thirty-five. What's yours?"
"The same," replied Philip quickly, his blood beginning to thrill
with the anticipation of battle. "I'll give you half. I'm on duty
from Fort Churchill, off on a tangent of my own." He did not take
his eyes from the slit in the wall as he told Anderson in a
hundred words what had happened since his meeting with Bram
Johnson. "And with forty cartridges we'll give 'em a taste of
hell," he added.
He caught his breath, and the last word half choked itself from
his lips. He knew that Anderson was staring as hard as he. Up from
the river and over the level sweep of plain between it and the
timber came a sledge, followed by a second, a third, and a fourth.


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