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Updated: June 21, 2025
"I was going home, sir," replied Simon, with the deferential air of a very little to a very big man. "Ay going to clap on hatches and deadlights. Well, tell me one thing where-away may one find one Mr. Latitat a shore-going cove, a regular land-shark, d'ye see?" "This is Mr. Latitat's office, sir," said Simon. "Ay and is he within hail?" "No, sir, he has gone home."
The first fever of his intoxication had cooled, with time, into a mild, penitential glow. He breathed harder than ever, in a succession of low growls, and wagged his venerable head at his own delinquencies without intermission. "How are you now, you young land-shark in petticoats?" inquired the old sailor. "Has your conscience been quiet enough to let you go to sleep?"
The land-shark haunted the Land Office, where all the land records were kept, and hunted "vacancies" that is, tracts of unappropriated public domain, generally invisible upon the official maps, but actually existing "upon the ground." The law entitled any one possessing certain State scrip to file by virtue of same upon any land not previously legally appropriated.
"Going back to the Concho to-morrow?" queried Banks. "No. Got a little business in town." "I heard Loring was due here to-morrow." The sheriff stated this casually, yet with intent. "I was talking with Art Kennedy 'bout two hours ago " "Kennedy the land-shark?" queried Shoop. "The same. He said something about expecting Loring."
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