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So we turned our faces down the grass-topped mountains towards Galena Creek. Once, far through an open gap away below us, we sighted the cabin with the help of our field-glasses. "Pity we can't make out Hank sleepin' in that brush," said McLean. "He has probably gone into the cabin by now," said I. "Not him! He prefers the brush all day when he's that drunk, you bet!" "Afraid of her?"
'Tis the first time such a thing has been known of in the country. Yu' remember them big tall grass-topped mountains over in the Hoodoo country, and how they descends slam down through the cross-timber that yu' can't scatcely work through afoot, till they pitches over into lots an' lots o' little canyons, with maybe two inches of water runnin' in the bottom?
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