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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch, by Henry Wallace Phillips, Illustrated by F. Graham Cootes This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch Author: Henry Wallace Phillips Release Date: June 16, 2008 [eBook #25809] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH*** E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 25809-h.htm or 25809-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/8/0/25809/25809-h/25809-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/8/0/25809/25809-h.zip) THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH by HENRY WALLACE PHILLIPS Author of Red Saunders Plain Mary Smith etc. With Illustrations by F. Graham Cootes New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers Copyright 1908 The Bobbs-Merrill Company October THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH The gulch ran in a trough of beauty to the foot of Jones's Hill, which rose in a sweeping curve into the clouds. Wild flowers, trees in profuse leaf, and mats of vines covered the scarred earth, and the sky was as limpid as spring water; the air carried a weight of heart-stirring odors, yet Jim Felton, sitting on the door-step of his cabin in the brilliant sunshine, was not a happy man. He looked at the hollow of the gulch and cursed it manfully and bitterly. The gold should be there--Jim had figured it all out. The old wash cut at right angles to the creek, and at the turn was where its freight of yellow metal should have been deposited, but when you got down to the bed-rock, the blasted stuff was either slanted so nothing could stay on it, or was rotten--crumbling in your fingers, and that kind of bed will hold nothing. Therefore Jim had sunk about fifty prospect holes; got colors under the grass-roots, as evidence that pay should be there--and nothing but ashy wash beneath it. When a man is alone, an
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