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"Hold your tongue!" I barked my wrath like a frightened puppy, drawing back a stride and laying my eye closer along the pistol. "If you call me your son again I'll send you to your fathers."

"Ferry's scouts," I repeated. "F-e-r-r-y-apostrophe s, Ferry's--s-k-o-w-t-s--scouts."

"Two--what?" His smile broadened. "You know that?"

"We'll call it yours now," he replied. "Kendall picked it up, but he has no need of it."

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