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Updated: June 29, 2025
What you want is a single-shot rifle, or a deer that will stand still." Saunders turned and pointed to the dismembered carcass that hung from a fir branch close at hand. "I got that one on the run, and there was a time when I'd have had one for every ca'tridge, instead of plugging Marlin bullets into trees. It was a sport I was meant for." He paused and sighed.
"I use hosses I don't love 'em," said Sinclair gloomily. "But I can read the points tolerable." The sheriff eyed Sinclair coldly. "So you don't love hosses, eh?" he said, returning distantly to the subject. It was easy to see where his own heart lay by the way his roan picked up its head whenever its master spoke. "Sheriff," explained Sinclair, "I'm a single-shot gent.
One was the skin of a polar bear. Near these skins were the haunches of caribou meat, and so close to him that he might have reached out and touched it was Bram's club. At the side of the club lay a rifle. It was of the old breech-loading, single-shot type, and Philip wondered why Bram had destroyed his own modern weapon instead of keeping it in place of this ancient Company relic.
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