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Kirill Kulikov
Kirill Kulikov

Gray Hat Hacking, 3rd Edition

In Gray Hat Hacking: The Ethical Hacker's Handbook, now in its fifth edition, nine contributors have written a highly technical, hands-on reference on ethical hacking. The book is updated and has 13 new chapters. While describing hacking methods, the book helps the reader understand the tools and techniques needed to secure their Windows and Linux-based systems.

Gray Hat Hacking, 3rd Edition

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This electronic edition has been created by OpticalCharacter Recognition (OCR). OCR-ed text has been compared against theoriginal document and corrected. The text has been encoded using therecommendations for Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines.

Mounting again, he dashed down the bridle-path until hecame to the lower road. A little clump of pines stood in theangle made by this path and the road; and on the soft swardbehind this he stopped, and, leaning forward, stroked his horse'sface to prevent him from neighing upon the approach of theexpected horseman. He had waited but a few moments whenhe heard Savage coming at a brisk gallop on his gray filly.The moon had now risen; and between the straggling pine-topshe caught occasional glimpses of the rider as he came alongthe stretch of white road, now distinctly seen in the moonlight,and now half hidden by the shadow. Holding his horse harduntil the other had passed the opening of the path, he gave thegallant bay the spur, and in half a dozen bounds was on thefilly's quarter. The long, lithe hickory hissed through the air,and again and again lashed across the mare's haunches. Stungwith pain, and mad with fright, she bounded forward, and for amoment was beyond reach; while her rider, scarce less amazedthan his horse at the unexpected onset, lost his self-control,and added unintentionally the prick of the spur to her incentivesfor flight. It was but a moment's respite, however; forthe powerful horse was in an instant again at her side, andagain and again the strong arm of his rider sent the toughhickory cutting through her hide or over the shoulders of herrider. Half-way to the cut in the road this race of pursuerand pursued kept up. Then Servosse with sudden effort drewin the bay, and subdued his excitement; and, taking the shadyside of the road, he advanced at an easy gait to observe theresult of his artifice. Meantime the party at the cut, hearingthe swift clatter of horses' feet, concluded that the man forwhom they were waiting had been warned of the ambush, andwas pushing forward to avoid being stopped by them in thewoods.

At the South it was far different. Sadness and gloomcovered the face of the land. The returning braves broughtno joy to the loving hearts who had sent them forth. Nay, theirvery presence kept alive the chagrin of defeat. Instead ofbanners and music and gay greeting, silence and tears weretheir welcome home. Not only for the dead were these lamentations,but also for the living. If the past was sorrowful,the future was scarcely less so. If that which went beforewas imbittered by disappointment and the memory ofvain sacrifice, that which was to come was darkened withuncertainty and apprehension. The good things of the pastwere apples of Sodom in the hand of the present. The miser'smoney was as dust of the highway in value; the obligor, inhis indefinite promise to pay, had vanished, and the hoarderonly had a gray piece of paper stamped with the fair pledge ofa ghostly nation. The planter's slaves had become freedmenwhile he was growing into a hero, and no longer owed fealty orservice to him or his family. The home where he had lived inluxury was almost barren of necessities: even the ordinarycomforts of life were wanting at his fireside. A piece of cornbread,with a glass of milk, and bit of bacon, was, perhaps, therichest welcome-feast that wifely love could devise for the returninghero. Time and the scath of war had wrought ruin inhis home. The hedgerows were upgrown, and the ditchesstopped. Those whom he had been wont to see in delicatearray were clad in homespun. His loved ones who had beenreared in luxury were living in poverty. While he had fought,interest had run. War had not extinguished debt. Whatwas a mere bagatelle when slaves and stocks were at theirhighest was a terrible incubus when slaves were no more, andbanks were broken. The army of creditors was even moreterrible than the army with banners, to whom he had surrendered.If the past was dark, the future was Cimmerian.Shame and defeat were behind, gloom and apprehensionbefore.

I have even a stranger fact to record. You remember mydaughter's hair was a soft light brown. It was so the night of theattack. In the morning it was streaked with gray, and now it isalmost as silvery as mine. She is but twenty-three. Ah! these villainshave a terrible sight of crime and agony to answer for. I hearthey are raiding all about the country, whipping and mutilatingwithout restraint. Can nothing be done? Is our government soweak that it can not protect its citizens at home?

In this furnace-blast of excitement and apprehension theyoung girl's heart and mind had matured even more rapidlythan her person. A prudence unknown to one of her yearswho had lived in quiet times and under other conditions ofsociety, had come to be habitual with her. The constantapprehension of attack from the masked marauders had familiarizedher with danger, and given her a coolness and decisionof character which nothing else could have developed. Shehad seen the dread cavalcade pass in the dim moonlight, andhad stood at her chamber-window, revolver in hand, preparedto take part in the expected defense of their home. She hadlearned to watch for danger, to see that all precautions wereadopted against it, to be cautious what she said, and to whomshe said it, to weigh with suspicious doubt the words and actsof all whom she met. Many a time, while yet a mere child,she had been called upon to be her mother's consoler in seasonsof doubt and apprehended danger. A thousand times she hadseen the dull gray look of agonized foreboding steal into theloved face, and had bravely undertaken the duty of lighteningthe mother's woe. All this had ripened her mind with wonderfulrapidity.

Then she remembered that she had not recognized the horse,which was a circumstance somewhat remarkable; for it was aniron-gray of notable form and action. Her love of horses ledher instinctively to notice those which she saw, and her dailyrides had made her familiar with every good horse in a circleof many miles. Besides this, she had been accustomed to goalmost everywhere with her father, when he had occasion tomake journeys not requiring more than a day's absence. Sothat it was quite safe to say that she knew by sight at leasttwice as many horses as people.

He motioned towards his horse; and Lily knew at a glancethat it was the same gray which was indelibly photographedupon her memory, which had brought the messenger who gavewarning of her father's peril, and the lover who sought herhand in vain, although he had borne away her heart.

She saw a tall, haughty-faced man, in whose eye there wasno indecision, and whose firm-shut lips confirmed the judgmentinstinctively made up from eye and brow. The close-clippedbeard and slightly-curling hair were of the same rich brownas his son's; but streaked here and there with gray. In formand feature his son closely resembled him, softened in outline,and perhaps somewhat less formal and austere in manner.Despite the feeling of injustice which had rankled in herbosom toward this man since she knew of the objection whichhe had interposed to her union with his favorite son, she couldnot avoid a feeling of pride in the father of her lover. Whileshe made these observations, he had been scanning, with theeye of a connoisseur, the proportions of Young Lollard, andremarking upon his excellences. The hounds were stretchedabout, lolling in utter exhaustion, or wallowing and drinkingin the creek near by. 041b061a72


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