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Bonner, Geraldine, 1870-1930

"The Emigrant Trail"

Jim used to say an angel brought
it. I'm not contradictin', but----"
"Wal," said old Joe, "he most certainly come back into the fort with a
dog. I was there and seen him."
Leff snickered, even the doctor's voice showed the incredulous note
when he asked:
"Where could it have come from?"
The tall man shrugged.
"Don't ask me. All I know is that Jim Cockrell swore to it and I've
heard him tell it drunk and sober and always the same way. He held out
for the angel. I'm not saying anything against that, but whatever it
was it must have had a pretty powerful pull to get a dog out to a
trapper in the dead o' winter."
They wondered over the story, offering explanations, and as they talked
the fire died low and the moon, a hemisphere clean-halved as though
sliced by a sword, rose serene from a cloud bank. Its coming silenced
them and for a space they watched the headlands of the solemn landscape
blackening against the sky, and the river breaking into silvery
disquiet. Separating the current, which girdled it with a sparkling
belt, was the dark blue of an island, thick plumed with trees, a black
and mysterious oblong.


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