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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The River's End"

You lied to her, but what's that? There's bigger
lies than yourn been told, Johnny, a whole sight bigger! Don't you go
worryin'. I've been here waitin' six weeks, an' I've done a lot of
thinkin', and all our plans are set an' hatched. An' I've got the
nicest cabin all built and waitin' for us up the Little Fork. Here we
are. Let's be joyful, son!" He laughed into Keith's tense, gray face.
"Let's be joyful!"
Keith forced a grin. Duggan didn't know. He hadn't guessed what that
"little tiger who would have liked to have bit open his throat" had
been to him. The thick-headed old hero, loyal to the bottom of his
soul, hadn't guessed. And it came to Keith then that he would never
tell him. He would keep that secret. He would bury it in his burned-out
soul, and he would be "joyful" if he could. Duggan's blazing, happy
face, half buried in its great beard, was like the inspiration and
cheer of a sun rising on a dark world. He was not alone. Duggan, the
old Duggan of years ago, the Duggan who had planned and dreamed with
him, his best friend, was with him now, and the light came back into
his face as he looked toward the mountains. Off there, only a few miles
distant, was the Little Fork, winding into the heart of the Rockies,
seeking out its hidden valleys, its trailless canons, its hidden
mysteries.


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