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A STORY OF TEN MILE GULCH. Chapter 1
The horse which Mr. Tom Ruger rode kept the path, steep and rugged though it was, without any guidance from him, and its mate followed demurely. They were accustomed to it; and many a mile had they traversed in this way, taking turns at carrying their owner and master. Indeed, the trio seemed inseparable, and "as happy as Tom Ruger and his horses" was a phrase that was very often heard in every mining camp and settlement.

As for Mr. Tom Ruger himself, very little was known of him save what had been learned during the two years that he had sojourned among them. Where he came from never was known, nor asked but once by the same person. All that could be said of him might be summed up in the following statement:

"The finest-looking, the best-dressed, and the best-mannered man on the Pacific coast, and the best horseman."

These were the words of "mine host" at the Ten Mile House, and, as he was a gentleman whose word was as good as his paper, we will accept them as truth.

As Mr. Ruger rode down the mountain-side that beautiful Autumn day, dressed in the finest of broadcloth, with linen of the most immaculate whiteness, smoking what appeared to be a very good cigar, and humming to himself a fragment of some old song, he looked strangely out of place.

So thought Miss Fanny Borlan as she looked out of the stage-window, and caught her first glimpse of him just where his path intersected the stage-road; and she would have asked the driver about him, had he not been so near.

Mr. Ruger caught sight of her face about that time, and tossing away the cigar, he lifted his hat to her in the most approved style.

She acknowledged the salute by a bow, and when he rode up to the side of the stage, and made some casual remark about the fine weather, she did not choose to consider it out of the way to receive this advance toward a traveling acquaintance with seeming cordiality.

"Have you traveled far?" he asked.

"From the Atlantic coast, sir."

"The same journey that I intend to take some of these days, only that I hope to substitute the word Pacific at its termination. I hope you are near the end of your journey in this direction?"

"My destination is Ten Mile Gulch, I believe; but you have such horrid names out here."

"I presume they do appear somewhat queer to a stranger, but they nearly all have the merit of being appropriate. You stop at the settlement?............
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