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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

He
pulled in his horse, dismounted and deliberated. If he went on
down the road now, they would see him and suspect. Moreover, the
patrons of the tiger would not appear until after dark, and he
wanted a prisoner or two. So Hale led his horse up into the bushes
and came back to a covert by
H3 the roadside to watch and wait. As he sat there, a merry
whistle sounded down the road, and Hale smiled. Soon the Infant of
the Guard came along, his hands in his pockets, his cap on the
back of his head, his pistol bumping his hip in manly fashion and
making the ravines echo with his pursed lips. He stopped in front
of Hale, looked toward the river, drew his revolver and aimed it
at a floating piece of wood. The revolver cracked, the piece of
wood skidded on the surface of the water and there was no splash.
"That was a pretty good shot," said Hale in a low voice. The boy
whirled and saw him.
"Well-what are you--?"
"Easy--easy!" cautioned Hale. "Listen! I've just seen a moonshiner
go into Caliban's cabin." The boy's eager eyes sparkled.
"Let's go after him."
"No, you go on back. If you don't, they'll be suspicious.


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