The Last Signal from the Frontier
I William Harlan stood on the hill above Oakridge and looked at the land the way a general looks at a map. He knew this land not from books or surveys, but from the way a soldier knows the ground that might become his grave. Every slope, every draw, every water source — he could feel it in his bones. The Civil War had taken something from him at Gettysburg. Not a leg or an arm, but the...
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