She entered and approached the bunk. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. “Which is Mr. He was not used to not getting his way. ” She stopped short. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally.
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