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Black Bart
I've labored long and hard for bread --
For honor and for riches --
But on my corns too long you've tred,
You fine-haired sons of bitches.
--Black Bart, the Po8
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The legend begins ...
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This legend begins at a desolate spot between Point Arenas and Duncan's Mills on the Russian River, just north of San Francisco. It was there, on August 3, 1877, that a lone highwayman wearing a long white linen duster and a flour sack over his head stepped out in front of a stagecoach, pointed a double-barreled shotgun at the driver, and forced him to halt.
--THE PLUNDERING Po8 By J. Kingston Pierce
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