Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. "Not I," replied Blueskin. "To-morrow it will be mine. " And he raised his arm with the intention of executing his purpose, when a ball from Jack's pistol passed through the back of his hand, shattering the limb. Wood," returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George.
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