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The Waggon-Maker
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nails hammered into a store shoe, an' the corks are beat squat. That 's Stone's shoein'. Now you know him."
Then I knew him too. Lem Marks rode a curbed Hambletonian, and Stone was Woodford's blacksmith.
Jud got up and waved his great hand towards the south country.
"They 're all ridin'," he said, "every mother's son of the gang. An' they know where we are."
"With rings on their fingers, an' bells on their toes," gabbled Ump; "an' we know where they are."
Then I heard the voice of the old waggon-maker calling us to breakfast.
