The Derelict
Link Ferris was a fighter. Not by nature, nor by choice, but to keep alive.
His battleground covered an area of forty acres—broken, scrubby, uncertain side-hill acres, at that. In brief, a worked-out farm among the mountain slopes of the North Jersey hinterland; six miles from the nearest railroad.
The farm was Ferris's, by right of sole heritage from his father, a Civil-War veteran, who had taken up the wilderness land in...
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