When a disaster devastates Circle T, Jem and Clay will have to postpone their pursuit of Daisy—or that’s what they thought. And soon everyone will realize that miracles can happen!
When Clay is hired to work at Circle T with Jeremy, the situation soon becomes tense. Their competition for Daisy’s heart comes to a head during a heated horse race!
Daisy Dailey is a feisty young woman with the world at her feet. Her gutsy attitude, short hair, and tomboyish nature means that the locals take notice of her but not always in a bad way.
Jeremy McClary, a ranch hand at the legendary Circle T, is enamored by her and decides to pursue her, despite her early rejection of his advances. Daisy is already in love with another man—Clay Whitlock.
But soon a disaster devastates Circle T and the entire town of Wolf Table.
Daisy’s only comfort during this time is her faith and trust in the Lord, which comes to her throughout her journey from an unlikely source.
But after a shocking turning point in their lives, Daisy couldn’t foresee who could be the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life.
“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the prodigal, come back home!”
The smiling doorman of the Delta Belle grinned from ear to ear and stuck out a hand. “Doc Dailey and Kate Dubois, as I live and breathe! Nobody in Norlans seen you two for a coon’s age. We thought you turned up your toes!”
Doc shook the man’s hand and laughed. “I almost did,” he agreed, “but I have a guardian angel.” He looked down at Kate and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, René. Kate and I just got married.”
“Well, congratulations,” René said and smiled. “It sure is good to see you two again!”
“It’s good to be back,” Doc told him. “I didn’t realize how much I missed the old town until we got here.”
“Well it’s been ten years―don’t just stand outside, cousin.” René opened the beveled glass door. “Come on in the party!”
Doc grinned and took Kate’s hand. Together they stepped inside the Delta Belle, the floating palace that was docked on the New Orleans waterfront. The bawling voice of a saxophone met them at the door, backed up by a driving drum and a chorus of chattering trumpets and clarinets. A brass band of five young men was practically blowing the roof off the boat, then one of them lowered the horn from his lips and belted out:
“Clara, Clara, Clara, let down your hair-a,
Come to Poppa baby, let’s do more than stare-a,
Pucker up and kiss me, ‘stead of claw and hiss me,
Clara, Clara, Clara, it’s more than I can bear-a!”
The horns rolled back in and the piano player pounded the keys frantically as Doc and Kate swept past in full dress costume. The Delta Belle was hosting the Cotton Planter’s Ball and practically everyone in New Orleans was there that night. Doc and Kate swam through the costumed throng hand-in-hand. Kate was wearing a lacy gold crown, a feathered mask, and a harlequin gown of green, blue, and purple silk. Doc was wearing a black tricorne hat, a black mask, a floor-length black cape, a ruffled white shirt, narrow black trousers, and knee-high, cuffed black boots.
He scooped two champagne glasses off a tray bobbing through the air and gave one to Kate before leading her out into the main saloon of the riverboat. The gambling tables and roulette wheels had been removed and the huge hall was converted into a ballroom filled with costumed revelers. Doc and Kate joined the crowd of onlookers as elegantly costumed guests waltzed to the music of a professional orchestra.
As the music died, Doc turned to Kate with a smile. “Want to take a whirl, Kate?”
Kate dimpled and curtseyed low, then when the music died, Doc set down his champagne glass, took her hand and led her out on the floor. But the band leader stood up and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen―take the floor for the New Orleans Strut!”
Doc looked down at Kate and raised an eyebrow at her. Kate laughed and squeezed his hand as they took the head of the line. The two of them stood straight and tall. When the orchestra swung into the sassy strut, they held hands, leaned sharply back, did a quick high kick, followed by a fast twirl. Then there was another high kick, a swinging turn, and a slow, strutting promenade to the end of the line.
The horns swung into a raucous melody as a young man with slicked back hair sang lustily:
“I got a gal in Norlans,
She’s as sassy as can be,
Whenever I get money
She makes a fool of me!”
The clarinets wailed as couple after couple high-kicked and twirled down the line. The leader cried, “Swing!”
Doc grabbed Kate and swung her madly as she whirled and laughed, then they strutted down the line a few more paces.
Doc turned to the lady behind them, and Kate to the gentleman ahead, and they changed partners.
“My little gal in Norlans
Kiss me sweet as wine.
My little gal in Norlans
Kiss me sweet as wine.
But if I turn my back on her
She kiss that friend of mine!”
Doc swung a fetching redhead in his arms and passed her off to another man before receiving a breathtaking blonde in a feathered headdress and a red gown. He smiled at her as they leaned back, high kicked, twirled, kicked, and turned.
Doc passed three bespangled ladies through his hands before welcoming Kate back into his arms and singing along with the orchestra leader.
“I got a gal in Norlans
She fills me full of dread.
I ask her for a kiss last night
And got a pinch instead!
Doc laughed as he swung Kate around then they leaned back and high-kicked in a flash of black boots and a swirl of silken skirts.
The two of them danced through the New Orleans Strut, the Fancy Dan Cakewalk, three more waltzes, and the Rampart Street Dipsy Doodle. When they retired from the ballroom, at last, laughing and breathless, Doc pulled Kate aside into a little alcove, pulled a curtain across the entrance, and took her in his arms.
They kissed long and passionately and when they emerged, ten minutes later, both Doc’s hat and Kate’s crown were a little askew. They were waylaid on the way back to the ballroom by a party of old friends and they ended up taking a cab across town to have a late-night dinner with them at Beaumont’s.
They climbed down from the cab as the gaslights flared and sputtered outside Beaumont’s front doors. Then, they were escorted inside by a smiling doorman and were seated in the Emerald Dining Room, which was as green and beautiful as an enameled jewelry box. To Doc’s great delight, the waiter who came to their table was a familiar face.
“Broussard!” Doc held out a hand, and the smiling waiter took it, laughing.
“Doc! I thought you were gone for good, cousin! Are you home to stay?”
“We’re here for our honeymoon,” Doc replied and nodded toward Kate. “Kate, this is Broussard Mentiére. Broussard, this is Kate Dubois, my bride.”
“It’s a real pleasure, ma’am and congratulations, Doc!” Broussard laughed.
Doc turned to Kate and told her, “I first met this man when I was five years old. My family has been coming to Beaumont’s for over forty years and we’ve never had any other waiter. This man is a legend!”
“And I still remember what you like,” Broussard told him. “Lobster, champagne, and grits soufflé with cream, corn, and pepper.”
Doc shook his head. “You are amazing, Broussard,” he marveled. “And right, as usual!”
“You come on down to the Basement Room after your meal.” Broussard winked. “I have a bottle of thirty-year-old champagne that I’ve been saving up for an occasion.”
Doc laughed and took his hand. “We’ll be there!”
Broussard left and brought back several bottles of chilled champagne in silver buckets, and opened them with a pop and a gush of bubbles. Doc and Kate laughed and talked to their old friends and caught up on the last ten years.
After a while, Broussard returned and set platter after platter of gourmet delights on the linen-covered table. They dined on exquisite fare: plump little shrimp grilled over a fire, nestled on a bed of buttered rice, and then drenched in a thick, savory seafood gumbo. There was also spicy crab cakes smothered in rich cream sauce, paper-thin slices of sugar-cured ham, buttered yeast rolls, and crackling bread. Broussard brought trays of fried tomatoes, candied yams, carrots, Creole stuffed peppers, and string beans baked with a luscious strip of fatback bacon draped over the top.
More than once during the course of the meal, Doc remembered the two wretched cafés in Wolf Table, closed his eyes, and shook his head in deep and wordless appreciation.
Kate’s eyes fluttered open sleepily. It was the deep night. She was lying in a soft, luxurious bed and was very comfortable. She yawned, stretched, and smiled deeply, remembering the hours after she and Doc came back to their suite in the Hotel Beaulieu.
They had merely moved from the pleasures of a public celebration to the pleasures of a private one. She turned to reach for Doc, but to her disappointment, his side of the bed was empty. Kate rose on one elbow to scan the huge room and finally saw that Doc had opened the door to the balcony and was sitting outside.
Kate reached for her pale pink nightgown which was lying on the covers. She shrugged into it and rose to join her new husband as its gossamer fabric swept the floor behind her like a train. She found Doc sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the balcony railing. He had leaned back and was gazing up at the stars. Her eyes followed his and as they watched a shooting star flicked through the sky overhead and was gone.
Doc turned to look up at her and extended his hand. “I think that means we get a wish,” he drawled. Kate giggled and curled up in his lap. She twined her arms around his shoulder and nuzzled his neck.
“Come to bed. Must I sleep alone on my own honeymoon? For shame.”
“I just came out here to think a bit,” Doc said with a sigh and pulled her close. “I’ve enjoyed myself very much since we came back. The old town is a lot of fun, and I’ve missed my old friends.”
Kate smiled. “I have, too. I didn’t realize how much until we came back.”
Doc looked down at her. “And I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. Because of you.”
Kate looked up at his face and smiled mischievously. “Is that why you abandoned my bed and came out here? To reflect on how happy you are with me?” She tickled his ribs. “Come back inside.”
Doc smiled and hugged her tight. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, I can see that now,” he muttered. “You’re going to wear me out. And don’t worry,” he added, looking down at her. “I know I’m a lucky man.”
Doc sighed and looked out to the tiny lights on the far shore of the gleaming Mississippi. “But – it’s strange – I don’t think I need New Orleans any more, Kate—or the risks of gambling. I don’t need to pit myself against a table full of strangers just to see if I can outsmart them. That old urge is fading for me and I don’t know why.”
Kate pulled back from him in astonishment. “You don’t want to play poker while we’re back in New Orleans at last? After a fast of ten years?”
Doc nodded. “That’s right, Kate. I don’t. Part of me is terrified of that, but the other part is just fine with it.”
Kate’s brows twitched together in concern. She raised a white hand and smoothed Doc’s blonde hair back from his brow. “You’ve been through a shocking ordeal,” she whispered. “Maybe you still aren’t quite yourself, my darling.”
“Maybe,” Doc conceded, “but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s more likely that Daisy’s bible is to blame. I read it every day when I was laid up in bed.”
“If it makes you feel guilty about something you love to do, maybe you shouldn’t read it,” Kate replied. “Maybe you should give it back.”
Doc looked up at the stars again. “That book was what gave me hope when I didn’t know if I’d ever walk again. It comforted me. It still does. If you want to know why I came out here tonight, I came out to thank God,” Doc murmured, looking up into the night sky. “To thank him for being able to walk, to dance with my bride, and enjoy a honeymoon. There was a time I didn’t know if I’d ever do any of those things.”
Kate glanced up at Doc with a smile. “You do all three very well, I must say.”
Doc leaned down to kiss her. Kate put her hands in his hair and murmured, “Come to bed, Doc. It’s getting cold out here. It must be three by now.”
“You go ahead,” Doc told her. “I’ll be in, in a little while.”
Kate frowned a bit, but smoothed his hair again, kissed him, and withdrew in a faint swirl of cologne. Doc watched her go, then lit a cigar and took a deep, contemplative puff. He looked up at the sky again and began to pray.
Well, I suppose you’re laughing at me. Can’t help but laugh a little at myself. I must be the last person on earth you’d figure to get religion—or whatever it is that this is called. But I’m glad I did, even if I still can’t believe that I’m saying it. I’m changing, and it scares me. But I think I’m going to like life better with you, than without.
Anyway―thank you for this. I had the time of my life tonight, I’m on my honeymoon, and I’m back home. None of that would’ve happened if you hadn’t saved my life in so many ways. I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done for me, and I pledge to be a better man if you’ll help me. Kate won’t understand about the poker, but I suppose she’ll get used to it in time. And oh, Lord―if I only get one more answered prayer in my life, make it this―that Kate comes to know you like I’m starting to, and the children as well.
Doc looked down and took another long pull from the cigar, and sputtered smoke out across the balcony.
About the children, Lord. I shudder to think of what’s happening back in Wolf Table at this moment. Please keep our children safe because only you know the full extent of what they’re capable of. Please protect the rest of the townsfolk and the countryside, from Daisy particularly. And thank you for giving us that Bible, Lord. Amen.
Doc gazed up at the night sky for a little while longer, but soon Kate’s voice beckoned softly from inside their suite. “Doc, come back to bed.”
Doc cast an apologetic look upwards, smiled, and returned to his bride. He closed the door behind him with a snap, and the sound of soft laughter rose up to greet him.
“I see your bet.”
An elderly gent with a bowler and a stubby cigar cocked a skeptical eyebrow, but the little dandy sitting across the table from him maintained an air of perfect confidence. The man consulted his own hand again: three sevens, a king, and a nine―three of a kind, not a very good hand. He glanced at the kid again, wondering why in the devil the saloon owner had let the little puppy sit in on the poker games―though come to think of it, the kid did attract a lot of interest from the customers. The table was surrounded by smiling adults, more than half of them women.
The old man adjusted his cigar, inhaled deeply, and prayed that he had the winning hand. He’d hate to be beaten by a kid in front of so many people. “Three of a kind.” He spread his cards out on the table, took another deep draught from the cigar, and waited.
The little dandy promptly placed his own hand on the green baize. “Three tens and two nines. A full house!”
The watching crowd burst out laughing, and the older man shook the small hand that the little boy extended with a chagrined expression.
“You are formidable,” the boy told him, as he scooped up the chips. “But you should beware of looking down at your cards so often. I saw you do it five times.”
There was a roar of laughter. The man pulled his hand over his jaw as the boy stood, bowed politely, put his top hat back on his head, and went off to redeem his chips at the tellers.
“Well, Ben, how does it feel to be skinned by a kid?”
The elderly man looked up at his friend and growled, “Oh, shut up, Homer!”
Emil Dailey made his way to the teller’s window, followed by a crowd of laughing saloon patrons. He placed the heavy carpetbag on the counter and announced, “I have come to redeem my winnings!”
The teller looked down at him and nodded solemnly. “Oh, yes, sir. Let’s see how many chips you got there.” He opened the bag and counted out the chips expertly, and so quickly that it was hard to see his hands.
“That comes to… four hundred and twenty-five dollars,” he announced, but Emil’s bright green eyes narrowed.
“It comes to five hundred dollars,” Emil cried and rapped on the counter with his small hand. “Count again and this time, so that everyone can see!”
The man went red to the roots of his hair, but a dozen eyes were on him, and he was forced to count out the chips again. “Well, look at that! Reckon you’re right, little man,” he murmured, with a wary glance at the adults. “Five hundred!”
He counted out five neat stacks of cash and placed them carefully into Emil’s carpet bag. The little prodigy tipped his hat and marched out of the saloon amidst a chorus of soft laughter.
“Ever seen such a thing?”
“He can’t be more than seven years old!”
“If he’s like this now, what will he be when he grows up?”
Emil walked out to the curb and raised his cane, just as a cab came rattling up. Emil paid the shocked coachman with a dollar bill and commanded, “Take me to Armand’s.”
The cabman’s mouth fell open. “Where?”
“The clothier!” Emil told him. “Vite!”
Emil climbed up into the cab, set the carpet bag down on his lap, and was immediately transported to one of the finest fashion houses in Denver. When he arrived, an employee walked out immediately to open the door of the cab. If he was surprised to see an unattended child sitting inside he gave no sign.
“Please pay the cabman,” Emil told him and handed him another dollar bill. “And take me inside. I need a winter wardrobe if I am to stay in this wild place!”
The man goggled at him but obeyed. Soon, Emil was sitting in a very exclusive customer parlor. The extremely discreet salesman clasped his hands and asked softly, “Do you have an account with us, sir?”
“Not yet,” Emil replied. “I will start one today.” He opened up the carpet bag and pulled out a stack of bills totaling two hundred dollars, then handed it to the gaping man.
“I will open my account with this,” he told the man. “If my order comes to more, you can bill me at my home address.”
The man swallowed and pocketed the bills. “Yes, sir. How can I help you, sir?”
Emil set down his bag and cane and replied, “I need a full-length winter coat, three new formal suits, two new hats, five new shirts, and a sports suit.”
The man’s lip trembled, but his expression remained gravely attentive. “I’ll be back in a moment with the style book and fabric samples. Would you care for some refreshments?”
Emil took off his hat and laid it carefully on the sofa beside him. “I would like a cup of coffee. Black,” he replied decisively, and the man stared at him.
“I will see if we have any,” he murmured and left.
By the time Emil finished his shopping he had ordered close to two hundred dollars’ worth of clothing for himself, and also twenty-five dollars’ worth of very expensive chocolate from the adjoining candy store. “You can ship it to my address,” Emil told the salesman and bowed slightly.
“Thank you for your business, sir,” the man replied urbanely. “We hope you call on us again!” He held the shop door open and Emil walked outside, pulling on his gloves. He replaced his top hat, took a new grip on his carpet bag, and hailed another cab, this time for Union Station. He climbed inside and was conveyed there within fifteen minutes.
Union Station was huge, noisy, and full of people hurrying back and forth, but by this time Emil knew it well. When he had paid the cabman, he walked confidently to the ticket counter. He stared up at the elderly man behind the grill and said, “Ticket for one, first-class, to Wolf Table.”
The cashier looked down at him skeptically over a pair of pince-nez glasses. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Emil reached into the bag, peeled ten dollars off a stack of cash, and handed it to the astonished cashier.
Emil took the ticket in gloved hands and walked to the correct platform, where he waited patiently. When the train finally arrived, with a shattering whistle blast and a rush of steam, Emil stood like a statue until it glided to a stop and was slowly emptied of passengers.
When the porter motioned to him at last, Emil stepped up confidently and presented his first-class ticket.
“Right this way, sir.”
Emil followed the jovial porter to a private compartment and set the carpet bag on the seat opposite. The porter smiled at him.
“Where’re your folks, boy?”
Emil glanced out the window. “They are on holiday in New Orleans.”
The porter raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re traveling alone?”
Emil turned to frown at him. “As you can see! Please bring me a cup of coffee and a biscuit. I’m hungry.”
“All right then, sonny,” the man sputtered and the door closed behind him. Emil glared after him, adjusted his shoulder, and watched passers-by as they hurried to their destinations in the station outside.
Five minutes passed, and Emil sighed, stripped off his gloves, and resigned himself to an hour of ennui. But then the door of his compartment suddenly burst open, and two dirty, unshaven men barged in boldly. Emil shouted in outrage as one of them reached out and wrestled the carpet bag right out of his hands.
“Thieves!” he shrieked, and jumped up to fight, but one of the men merely pushed him backwards. He fell down and lost his top hat. Emil looked up from the floor just in time to see the two men scramble away with his bag.
Emil clambered up again, ran out into the hallway and cried, “Thieves! I’ve been robbed!” He looked up and down the hallway, but the tramps had disappeared.
“Porter!” Emil called. “Porter!”
The uniformed porter came scuttling back at the sound of his cries and looked down at him in dismay. “What’s wrong, sonny?”
“What’s wrong!” Emil gasped. “Two robbers just burst into my cabin and stole my carpet bag! I had two hundred dollars in it!”
The man rubbed his chin. “Well, sonny, I’m right sorry about that. I’ll file a report with the train line and when your folks get back, you can report it to the sheriff.”
“The sheriff? Bah! If we hurry, we may catch them. They cannot have gone far!”
The porter shook his head. “There’s no time for that, sonny, not if you want to stay on this train. We’re leaving.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the train began to pull out of the station. As the station moved past, Emil glanced out the window, stiffened and cried, “There, there, there! It’s them! There are the two pigs who robbed me!”
Emil pressed his hands against the window and watched as the two unwashed tramps opened his bag, pulled out his cash, and laughed. One of them looked up and happened to catch Emil’s eye. He smiled and kissed the bundle of cash as his victim watched in helpless outrage.
“Yes, enjoy it while you may!” Emil cried fiercely. “We will meet again, and then I will be ready!”
The porter looked down at him in sympathy. “Bad luck, son. I’m right sorry about it. I’ll help you file a report if you want to.”
Emil’s smoldering eyes were still on the two men as they slid past. “I will not file a report. It is useless―a consolation. By the time the policeman arrives, it is too late!”
“Can’t argue with you there.” The porter sighed and put a hand on Emil’s shoulder. “Come on back to your compartment. I’ll show you how to lock it, so no one can bust in on you again.”
Emil allowed himself to be escorted back to the compartment and the porter consoled him with coffee and pastries before locking the compartment door. “There you go, sonny. Nobody can bust in on you now,” the porter said and smiled before he pulled the door snugly shut behind him.
Emil sighed heavily, took a sip of coffee, and watched in frowning silence as the shops and buildings of Denver rolled past his window. It was only his third trip into Denver, and already he had suffered an outrage for the lack of a proper gun. Next time, he would not make that mistake. He was going to bring one of the pearl-handled pistols that his mother hid in her handkerchief drawer. Kate favored small guns that fit neatly into a pocket and that were easy to fire—that suited him very well.
Kate didn’t know that he’d found them or that he’d practiced with them a time or two already; he was quite comfortable with them. He would certainly not be afraid to fire them a third time. And if anyone tried to rob him again―they were going to be very surprised. Emil lifted the coffee cup to his lips again and smiled grimly as he imagined it.
The thieving dogs would cower in terror as he lifted his gun and cried, “Aha! Now I have you!”
Emil saw their dirty faces crumple up in terror, and heard them whimper, “Don’t shoot us, mister, we didn’t mean it! Here’s your money back. Please let us live!”
He saw himself wave the gun and reply sternly, “Very well, dogs! Start running!” Then he saw himself fire into the air and laugh at seeing the beggars run.
Clay lifted his eyes from the horse he was saddling, then turned to call into the house, “He’s back, Dase.”
Daisy emerged from the house and planted her hands on her hips. Emil came strolling down the road and into the yard as nonchalantly if he was just returning from town. “Where have you been all day?” she demanded. “We was about to go for the sheriff!”
Emil met her eyes calmly. “Why do you distress yourselves? Do I not always go to Denver and always to the same places? I am like a clock.”
“You’re gonna get clocked, if you make us come after you one more time,” Daisy warned him. “I’m tired of having to traipse down to Denver to fetch you! If you sneak off again, I’m not coming after you. You’ll be on your own!”
“What you choose to do is your own affair,” Emil informed her haughtily. “I do not control you. And you must remember that you do not control me.”
“You don’t wanna find out what I can do,” Daisy grumbled, but Emil scuttled past quickly and disappeared into the house. She followed him as he walked to the kitchen and bowed elegantly to Mrs. Monroe, the cook. The older woman smiled at him and wiped her hands on a towel.
“Bonjour, madame,” Emil greeted her. “Is there any lunch? I am famished, and have suffered an outrage.”
Daisy crossed her arms suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘suffered an outrage?’”
Emil glanced at her. “I was robbed on the train. A pair of dirty beggars stole two hundred dollars that I won at the poker tables. The crime in Denver is a scandal!”
“I ain’t surprised they got you,” Daisy replied briskly. “It stands to reason. You’re three feet tall and was totin’ a bag full of cash.”
“I am three feet and two inches tall!” Emil snapped.
“You might as well have been wearing a sign,” Daisy mumbled, as she reached for an apple. “Easy money. Come and get it!’”
Mrs. Monroe stared at Emil in horror. “You were robbed? Oh honey, are you alright?”
“Perfectly,” Emil assured her. “Except that, I have two hundred dollars less than I should!”
“You shouldn’t go into a gambling den in the first place,” Mrs. Monroe told him, with a worried look. “They’re not meant for children! And you shouldn’t run away from your sister. It’s not safe for a little boy to travel all alone!”
Emil raised his brows. “Perhaps not, but I am not a little boy.”
Daisy shook her head. “Don’t bother tryin’ to argue with him,” she told the astonished Mrs. Monroe. “He thinks he’s a fire eater. He’s gonna get his head busted open one day, and then he’ll learn.”
“I am perfectly capable of defending myself,” Emil told her coldly.
“You better hope you never get in a fight with nobody,” Daisy sputtered. “Your arms are too short to hit ‘em back!” She took a bite of the apple.
Emil scowled at her and addressed Mrs. Monroe. “Madame, I will take my lunch out on the back porch. I prefer my coffee with two creams and one sugar.” He turned on the words and walked out to the back porch, and sat down at one of the wicker tables to await his meal.
Daisy called after him, “You remember what I told you―there better not be a next time! I ain’t chasing after you no more!”
“Bon!” Emil’s voice replied. “Cela me va très bien!”
“And if I find out you been cussing me in French, I’ll kick you into next week!” she warned.
After she had gone, Emil mumbled in French, “Why should I resort to cussing? The truth is terrible enough. Your hair stands up like a porcupine’s, and grown men are afraid of you!”
“I heard that!”
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