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The Wooden Indian and the Shaghorn Buffalo
One night a milk white moon was shining down on Main Street. The sidewalks and the stones, the walls and the windows all stood out milk white. And there was a thin blue mist drifted and shifted like a woman's veil up and down Main Street, up to the moon and back again. Yes, all Main Street was a mist blue and a milk white, mixed up and soft all over and all through.
It was past midnight. The Wooden Indian in front of the cigar store stepped down off
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