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Bonner, Geraldine, 1870-1930

"The Emigrant Trail"

It was not hard to find. The left foreleg had
been broken at the knee, splinters of bone penetrating the skin. There
was nothing to do with Bess but shoot her, and Courant went back for
his pistols, while Daddy John and the doctor came up to listen with
long faces. It was the first serious loss of the trip.
Later in the day the rain stopped and the clouds that had sagged low
with its weight, began to dissolve into vaporous lightness, float
airily and disperse. The train debouched from the gorge into one of
the circular meadows and here found Leff lying on a high spot on the
ground, his horse cropping the grass near him. He made no remark, and
as they came to a halt and began the work of camping, he continued to
lie without moving or speaking, his eyes fixed on the mountains.
These slowly unveiled themselves, showing in patches of brilliant color
through rents in the mist which drew off lingeringly, leaving filaments
caught delicately in the heights. The sky broke blue behind them, and
clarified by the rain, the shadows brimmed high in the clefts. The low
sun shot its beams across the meadow, leaving it untouched, and
glittering on the remote, immaculate summits.


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