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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Golden Snare"


"Strategy," he mumbled. "They know we're shy of ammunition."
In the moments of tense waiting Philip found his first opportunity
to question the man at his side. First, he said:
"I guess mebby you. understand, Olaf. We've gone through a hell
together, and I love her. If we get out of this she's going to be
my wife. She's promised me that, and yet I swear to Heaven I don't
know more than a dozen words of her language. What has happened?
Who is she? Why was she with Bram Johnson? You know their
language, and have been with them--"
"They're taking final orders," interrupted Olaf, as if he had not
heard. "There's something more on foot than a rush to the ridge.
It's Blake's scheming. See those little groups forming? They're
going to bring battering-rams, and make a second rush from the
ridge." He drew in a deep breath, and without a change in the even
tone of his voice, went on: "Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn went down
in a good fight. Tell you about that later. Hit seven days' west,
and run on the camp of Armin, his girl, and two white men--
Russians--guided by two Kogmollocks from Coronation Gulf.


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