He was a "raider"--that man: so, cautiously and
swiftly then, she pushed herself back from the edge of the cliff,
sprang to her feet, dashed past the big tree and, winged with
fear, sped down the mountain--leaving in a spot of sunlight at the
base of the pine the print of one bare foot in the black earth.
II
He had seen the big pine when he first came to those hills--one
morning, at daybreak, when the valley was a sea of mist that threw
soft clinging spray to the very mountain tops: for even above the
mists, that morning, its mighty head arose--sole visible proof
that the earth still slept beneath. Straightway, he wondered how
it had ever got there, so far above the few of its kind that
haunted the green dark ravines far below. Some whirlwind,
doubtless, had sent a tiny cone circling heavenward and dropped it
there. It had sent others, too, no doubt, but how had this tree
faced wind and storm alone and alone lived to defy both so
proudly? Some day he would learn. Thereafter, he had seen it, at
noon--but little less majestic among the oaks that stood about it;
had seen it catching the last light at sunset, clean-cut against
the after-glow, and like a dark, silent, mysterious sentinel
guarding the mountain pass under the moon.
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