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Then kem up ter Gran'dad Kettison's whenst it is cleverly dark an' tap on the glass winder not on the batten shutter. An' I'll hev cartridges an' powder an' ball for ye' an' some victuals ready, too." But the fugitive, despite his straits, demurred. "I don't want ter git old man Kettison into trouble for lendin' ter me." "'T ain't his'n. 'T is my dad's old buckshot ca'tridges an' powder an' ball.
None better. Knowed him all my life." "Got pretty good horse?" "Got none at all; expect ter borry Mr. Kettison's." "I'll go show ye whar the saddle be," exclaimed Meddy, with her wonted officious-ness, and glibly picking up the bits of her shattered scheme.
The camp equipage, tents and wagons succumbed beneath the fury of the tempest, and, indeed, the hunters had much ado to saddle their horses and grope their way along the bridle-path that led to old Kettison's house. The rude comfort of the interior had a heightened emphasis by reason of the elemental turmoils without.
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