Many years of living face to face with sheep on their own terms wearied
Dry Valley Johnson. So, he sold his ranch for eighteen thousand dollars
and moved to Santa Rosa to live a life of gentlemanly ease. Being a
silent and melancholy person of thirty-five—or perhaps thirty-eight—he
soon became that cursed and earth-cumbering thing—an elderlyish bachelor
with a hobby. Some one gave him his first strawberry to eat, and he was
done for.
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