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It was well on toward three o'clock in the morning when P. Slattery, the red-headed proprietor of the Donegal Shades, was aroused from his sleep in the back room behind his saloon by a loud knocking upon the outer door.
"Now who the blazes can that be?" he muttered. "It's too early for the market-men, I'm sure. Must be some drunken tramp who hai