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Clayley and myself entered the inclosure. As we pushed through a copse we were saluted by the hoarse bark of a couple of mastiffs, and we could perceive several forms moving in front of the rancho. We stopped a moment to observe them. "Quitate, Carlo! Pompo!" "Papa, mandalos!" We recognised the voices, and pressed forward. "Afuera, malditos perros! abajo!"
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