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No more would the genial atmosphere of that barroom respond to the heavings of his broad chest, no more would the dignified concoctor of rare and villainous drinks pass him the whisky-straight. Alas! Bill Foster had passed in his checks, and gone the way of all Ten Milers.

Circumstances pointed to Jack Borlan, and they escorted him down to the settlement. He stood by the bar conversing with the dispenser of liquid lightning. Two very calm-looking Ten Milers were within easy reach of Mr. Borlan; two more at the door, which was left temptingly open; two more at each window, and the remainder scattered about the room to suit themselves. Mr.

Only for Tom, you would have found me at Ten Mile Gulch, hanging by the neck to the limb of that tree just in front of the Home." "Hanging, Jack?" "Hanging, Fan lynched for a murder I never committed. Tom came along just in the nick of time, and Well, Fan, perhaps you saw some of the Ten Milers before you came away?"

Give my respects to Jack, and tell him I will be down in a week or two. Good-morning." While talking, Mr. Ruger had about evenly divided his glances between the very beautiful face of Fanny Borlan and the somewhat expressive countenances of the Ten Milers. Not that he found anything to admire in their damaged physiognomies, but he never wholly ignored the presence of any one.

The barroom at the Miners' Home might have been more crowded at some former period of its existence, but to have duplicated the two dozen faces and forms of the two dozen Ten Milers who were congregated there that beautiful Autumn afternoon would have been a hopeless task.

Ten Mile Gulch had turned out en masse, and those same Ten Milers were distinguished neither for their good looks, nor taste in dress, nor softness of heart or language, nor elegance of manners. Further than that we do not care to go at present. But there was one face and one form absent.

He also noticed that patched noses and heads, and canes and crutches, were the predominating features in the group of Ten Milers, with an occasional closed eye and a bandaged hand to vary the monotony. Miss Fanny Borlan, from her window at the Ten Mile House, also noticed the dilapidated looks of the frequenters of the Miners' Home, and wondered if they kept a hospital there. Then she saw Mr.

I'll be prosecuting attorney, if no one objects; now, who'll defend the prisoner at the bar?" "I'll make a feeble attempt that way," was the reply that came from the doorway. All eyes turned, and recognized Tom Ruger. "This is betwixt us Ten Milers," said Watson. "Borlan is guilty, and we're bound to hang him before sundown; but we want to do the fair thing, and give him the benefit of a trial.

She was sick to death of the circle of City people, of what she flippantly called "Square milers," and that had been the main reason she had given to her husband in urging him to give up business and go into the country. "Let's go amongst people who don't have to catch trains, Billy," she had urged.

Ruger rode into the only street in the village, his approach was heralded, and the Ten Milers, who were waiting for Watson's return, filed out of the Miners' Home, and took stations in the street. Mr. Ruger took note of this demonstration, and, with a very business-like air, examined the contents of his holsters.