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Updated: May 4, 2025
They followed the leader along shore and boarded an abandoned and evil-smelling fishingboat. There they ran up a ragged jacket for a black flag. But sailing a stranded craft palled presently. "Nae, I'm gangin' to be a Crusoe. Preserve me! If there's no' a futprint i' the sand Bobby's ma sma' man Friday." Away they ran southward to find a castaway's shelter in a hollow on the golf links.
That he has identified the track is evident from the speech succeeding his ejaculation. "Yur hoss, Hamersley! Hyar's his futprint, sure. An', as he's rud by Urager, the scoundrel's goed this way to a sartinty. Eqwally sartin, he's tuk the captives along wi' him." On hearing their old comrade declare his prognosis, the Rangers wheel their horses and ride towards him.
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