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Chet returned to the subject of the jack, to whose back a blanket was strapped. "I'm sorry my saddles won't fit him," said Chet, "but you'll find sittin' on this blanket as comf'tbul as your mother's rockin'-chair, an' you've only sixty mile t' go." "Sixty miles!" gasped Whitey. "Thassall. Now you keep t' that road, with them hills t' your right, an' when you get t' "
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