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Many prominent exiles have lived in the northern part of the government of Tobolsk, especially at Beresov on the river Ob. Menshikoff, a favorite of Peter the Great, died there in exile, and so did the Prince Dolgorouki and the count Osterman. It is said the body of Menshikoff was buried in the frozen earth at Beresov, and found perfectly preserved a hundred years after its interment.
"I don't see," he muttered, "just what I'm going to do. No, I don't see what I'm going to do at all." Ruggles came in, bringing with him two other men in whom Dyke recognised dummy buyers of the Los Muertos and Osterman ranchos. They brushed by him, jostling his elbow, and as he went out of the door he heard them exchange jovial greetings with Delaney, Genslinger, and S. Behrman.
"My son Lyman should be here, gentlemen, within at least ten minutes. I have sent my team to meet him at Bonneville," explained Magnus, as he called the meeting to order. "The Secretary will call the roll." Osterman called the roll, and, to fill in the time, read over the minutes of the previous meeting.
"What's the use of making a fool of yourself, Annixter?" remonstrated Presley, as Annixter backed the horse from the stall. "You act just like a ten-year-old boy. If Osterman wants to play the goat, why should you help him out?" "He's a PIP," vociferated Annixter. "You don't understand, Presley. It runs in my family to hate anything sticky. It's it's it's heredity.
"I got a wire from Osterman this morning, Governor, and, well we've got Disbrow. That means that the Denver, Pueblo and Mojave is back of us. There's half the fight won, first off." "Osterman bribed him, I suppose," observed Magnus. Annixter raised a shoulder vexatiously. "You've got to pay for what you get," he returned. "You don't get something for nothing, I guess.
Suddenly Osterman leaped to his feet, his bald head gleaming in the lamp-light, his red ears distended, a flood of words filling his great, horizontal slit of a mouth, his comic actor's face flaming. Like the hero of a melodrama, he took stage with a great sweeping gesture. "ORGANISATION," he shouted, "that must be our watch-word. The curse of the ranchers is that they fritter away their strength.
"Oh, no, no!" said the prince at last, "that was not what I was going to say oh no! I don't think you would ever have been like Osterman." Hippolyte frowned gloomily. "I'll tell you why I draw the conclusion," explained the prince, evidently desirous of clearing up the matter a little.
Presley helped him across the irrigating ditch and Osterman laid himself down, his head on his folded arms. Harran Derrick dropped where he stood, turning over on his face, and lay motionless, groaning terribly, a pool of blood forming under his stomach. The old man Dabney, silent as ever, received his death, speechless. He fell to his knees, got up again, fell once more, and died without a word.
The cow-puncher turned to his chief: "Well, captain," he said, still panting, as he bound up his forehead; "well we GOT him." Osterman cut his wheat that summer before any of the other ranchers, and as soon as his harvest was over organized a jack-rabbit drive. Like Annixter's barn-dance, it was to be an event in which all the country-side should take part.
In crossing Little Combination River to the north side the pontoon bridge gave way, and Gen. Osterman and his division of Sherwood's command were completely cut off and left on the south side of the stream. Silent ordered him to proceed up the river to a point opposite Middleton's Ridge with the remainder of his command.
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