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The pocket-miner burst into roars of laughter, which were choked by a misdirected flood of tea, and which left him coughing and speechless. "Where'd I leave 'm?" when he had recovered. "Over on the divide to Indian River, winded, plum-beaten, done for. Just about able to crawl into the nearest camp, and that's about all. I've covered fifty stiff miles myself, so here's for bed. Good-night.
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