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Gregory, Jackson, 1882-1943

"Six Feet Four"

And then he swung about and pointed to
the south, saying shortly:
"Yonder's the country you're lookin' for. We strike due south here along
the edge of the Poison Hole ranch. When we get to that next string of
lulls you can see the hills of three states, all at once and the same
time. And you can see the town you're headed for; it sets on top a sort
of hill. Down yonder," and he swung his long arm off to the south-west,
"is the Bar X outfit; that's as far as I'm going. But, if you want
company, one of the boys will sure be glad to ride on with you. The
Corners is only about a dozen mile from there on."


CHAPTER XII
RATTLESNAKE POLLARD

IT was barely noon, the air clear, the sky cloudless, when Winifred
Waverly rode into Hill's Corners. She had shaken her head at the
suggestion of further escort. Here, in the open country and in the full
sunlight, she was grateful for the opportunity of being alone.
At the foot of a gentle eminence she entered the narrow, winding street
of the town, a crooked little town physically both in the matter of this
meandering alley-like thoroughfare and in the matter of the hastily
builded, unprepossessing houses; a crooked town in its innermost
character, it was easy to believe.


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