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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"The Hidden Places"

He felt latterly that he had a firm grip on the
immediate future. Yet who could tell?
Dusk began to close on the valley while the far, high crests of the
mountains still gleamed under a crimson sky. Deep shadows filled every
gorge and canyon, crept up and up until only the snowy crests
glimmered in the night, ghostly-silver against a sky speckled with
stars. The valley itself was shrouded under the dark blanket of the
night, through which the river murmured unseen and distant waterfalls
roared over rocky precipices. The two Indians attending Lawanne
squatted within the red glow of their fire on the bank. Downstream a
yellow spot broke out like a candle flame against black velvet.
"There is some one at Bland's now," Hollister said.
"That's their window light, eh?" Lawanne commented. "I may go down and
see him in the morning. I am not very keen on two or three weeks alone
in these tremendous silences. This valley at night now--it's awesome.
And those Siwashes are like dumb men. _You_ wouldn't go bear-hunting,
I suppose?"
There was a peculiar gratification to Hollister in being asked.


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