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The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene Field

Eugene Field

ISBN 10: 1154369587 / ISBN 13: 9781154369588
Published by General Books, 2010
Used Condition: Good
From Better World Books (Mishawaka, IN, U.S.A.)

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Shows some signs of wear, and may have some markings on the inside. Bookseller Inventory # GRP78193518

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Title: The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene ...

Publisher: General Books

Publication Date: 2010

Book Condition:Good

About this title


This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 Excerpt: ...that he is dead; he will surely kill us!" The gamest man in the world would n't have stood the ghost of a show in the face of those murderous weapons now brought to bear on the fallen and crushed wretch. "If he ain't dead already he 's so near it that there ain't no fun in it," said Bill Merridew. In spite of this assurance, however, the party advanced cautiously toward the man. Convinced finally that there was no longer cause for alarm, Barber Sam strode boldly up to the body, bent over it, tore off the hat and pulled aside the muslin half-mask. One swift glance at the outlaw's face, and Barber Sam recoiled. "Great God!" he cried, "Miss Woppit!" It was, indeed, Miss Woppit--the fairhaired, shy-eyed boy who for months had masqueraded in the camp as a woman. Now, that masquerade disclosed and the dreadful mystery of the past revealed, the nameless boy, fair in spite of his crimes and his hideous wounds, lay dying in the dust and gravel of the road. Jim Woppit and his posse, a mile away, had heard the pistol-shot. It seemed but a moment ere they swept down the road to the scene of the tragedy; they came with the swiftness of the wind. Jim Woppit galloped ahead, his swarthy face the picture of terror. "Who is it--who 's killed--who 's hurt?" he asked. Nobody made answer, and that meant everything to Jim. He leapt from his horse, crept to the dying boy's side and took the bruised head into his lap. The yellowish hair had fallen down about the shoulders; Jim stroked it and spoke to the white face, repeating "Willie, Willie, Willie," over and over again. The presence and the voice of that evil brother, whom he had so bravely served, seemed to arrest the offices of Death. The boy came slowly to, opened his eye...

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