In the meantime Duane and Charles Carter had been winning fame and most of the large purses in Maryland and Virginia, under the management of that shrewd and competent horseman, Billy McCargo. They were now turned toward the metropolis, with a view to catching this new champion at Long Island and taking a measure of his courage and speed. McCargo thought either of his horses was better than Decatur, and as good, if not better, than Boston. At Long Island he decided to make his first battle on Boston with Charles Carter, the lesser light of the two stars of the turf. The horses came together in a four-mile purse race, and for the character of the soil and condition of the track, it was the most fiercely-contested four-mile dash I ever saw. The first three miles were run in 5:36, the fastest, notwithstanding the poor condition of the track, ever made up to that time. As they passed out on the fourth mile the horses were going like a matched team, and the contest appeared in great doubt, but on the back side Boston began to draw away and won easily by half a dozen lengths, and when Carter came in it was seen that he was broken down and had run his last race.
“I’ll see Miss Wolley” ses she hortily.
The first entry in the old record is dated January 11, 1803. It shows that one Pierre Dapron, a citizen of New Madrid, appeared in court and made a declaration before three officials: the Commandant, Don Henri Peyroux de la Coudreniere, “Captain of the Army, Civil and Military Commander of the District of New Madrid;” Don Pierre Antoine LaForge, “Commissioner of Police and Officer of the Militia,” and Don Joseph Charpentier, “Interpreter for His Majesty in the English Language.” Dapron explained to these officials that he had returned from Little Prairie and considered it his duty to declare that Ignace Belan had informed him that on his way to New Orleans with a cargo of salt pork he had seen four persons at Little
He did. By the time the copter came to drop food and water again, Jorgenson was physically adjusted to the island. But neither as a business man or as a person could he adjust to hopelessness.
The next morning some of the Ford’s Ferry gang rode to Potts’ Hill to celebrate the return of their friend. Before they had an opportunity to explain the object of their coming, Potts recited the details of how he had
"Oh, delicious things!" She took them up and smelt them, then held them out to Colonel Coventry. "How sweet they are! Don't you love violets? Do violets grow in India, George?"
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