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On the rude snake fence at the back of the pasture sat a boy, with a roll of birch bark in his hands. The bark was fashioned into the shape of a fish-horn, and the boy handled it proudly. He took deep breaths of the pungent-smelling air, and felt an exciting thrill as he glanced over his shoulder at the dark woods just behind him.

But, determined to make quite sure, I swung my legs over the coaming and quietly dropped down into the close, pungent-smelling place.

The sun burned the scar-tissue of his face to a brown like that on the faces of his two men, who were piling the cut cedar in long ricks among the green timber while he got the chute ready to slide the red, pungent-smelling blocks downhill.

What the journalist intended to say here was that at least one of the aromatic herbs resembled sage, hyssop, wormwood, and southernwood, and that there were junipers and dwarf cedars. The pungent-smelling herb was the wild sage, now celebrated in stories of adventure as the sage-brush. It grows abundantly in the alkali country, and is browsed upon by a species of grouse known as the sage-hen.

The Chinaman assisted the youth to get into the garment, too, for Captain Rugley had already swathed the scratches on Pratt's chest and arm with linen, after treating the wounds with a pungent-smelling but soothing salve. "San Soo, him alle same have dlinner ready sloon," said Ming, sprinkling 'l's' indiscriminately in his information. "Clapen an' Misse Flank wait on pleaza."

Only when he came upon a long, massive footprint in the damp earth by a spring, or a wisp of pungent-smelling fur on the rubbed and clawed bark of a tree, memory would rush back upon him fiercely. His ears would flatten down, his eyes would gleam green, his tail would twitch, and crouching to earth he would glare into every near-by thicket for a sight of his mortal foe.

There were hollow circles round the sick man's eyes; there was palsy in his trembling limbs; there was dissolution in his feverish breath. "What's up?" he asked huskily and nervously. "I am, and I want YOU to get up too." "I can't, Jack. I'm regularly done up." He reached his shaking hand towards a glass half-filled with suspicious, pungent-smelling liquid; but Mr. Hamlin stayed it.

He passed through the dressing room, to find her stretched on a plastic-sheeted couch, while her maid, Rendarra, was rubbing her body vigorously with some pungent-smelling stuff about the consistency of machine-grease. Her face was masked in the stuff, and her hair was covered with an elastic cap.