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"Ain't this the beatenest you ever heard of, Tunis?" Tunis stared from the old mare to the old mariner, especially at the cocked revolver in the captain's hand. He pointed at the tightly gripped weapon. "What's that for, Cap'n Ira?" he asked. "I I well, I swan!" stammered Cap'n Ira, now looking, himself, at the old seven-chambered revolver as though he had never seen it before.
He halted, and the mare stood still, again blowing softly through her nostrils. The old man, with shaking hands, took from under his coat the heavy article that had sagged his pocket. It was a black, old-fashioned, seven-chambered revolver, well oiled and as grim-looking as a rifled cannon on a battleship.
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