DONALD MACPHERSON,

SMUGGLER.

HIS ADVENTURES IN AND AROUND DUFFTOWN.

CHAPTER VIII
PURSUIT OF DONALD.

“Wha daurs cry me halt?” shouted Donald, ignoring the last part of the command. “Robbers, I suppose,” then drawing his claymore he shouted as he urged his horse forward: “Oot o’ my way, ye rievin’ devils, or there’ll be a few less of ye for yer ill-gotten parritch I’ the morn!” With these words Donald dashed forward, making a cut in passing at the nearest rider, who happened to be the supervisor, Barret. Fortunately he had miscalculated the distance, and the blade, instead of reaching the person aimed at, struck his horse on the ear, lopping it completely off.

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