“Mr. "'Sblood!" exclaimed Jonathan, hastily thrusting the ring into his vest, and taking up a heavy horseman's pistol with which he had felled Blueskin,—"I thought you'd been senseless. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. It has been proved. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up.
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