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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

Her eyes blazed with murderous fire from her white face, the
penknife in her hand was clenched as though for a deadly purpose,
and on her trembling lips was the same question that she had asked
him at the mill:
"Have you done it this time?" she whispered, and then she saw his
swollen mouth and his battered eye. Her fingers relaxed about the
handle of the knife, the fire in her eyes went swiftly down, and
with a smile that was half pity, half contempt, she turned away.
She could not have told the whole truth better in words, even to
Dave, and as he looked after her his every pulse-beat was a new
curse, and if at that minute he could have had Hale's heart he
would have eaten it like a savage--raw. For a minute he hesitated
with reins in hand as to whether he should turn now and go back to
the Gap to settle with Hale, and then he threw the reins over a
post. He could bide his time yet a little longer, for a crafty
purpose suddenly entered his brain. Bub met him at the door of the
cabin and his eyes opened.
"What's the matter, Dave?"
"Oh, nothin'," he said carelessly. "My hoss stumbled comin' down
the mountain an' I went clean over his head.


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