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Bonner, Geraldine, 1870-1930

"The Emigrant Trail"

Neither led to
anything--sage, dust, the up-standing combs of rocky reefs were all the
searching eye could see till sight lost itself in the earth's curve.
The girl and the two men stood in the van of the train consulting. The
region was new to Courant, but they left it to him, and he decided for
the southern route.
For the rest of the afternoon they followed it. The day deepened to
evening and they bore across a flaming level, striped with gigantic
shadows. Looking forward they saw a lake of gold that lapped the roots
of rose and lilac hills. The road swept downward to a crimsoned butte,
cleft apart, and holding in its knees a gleam of water. The animals,
smelling it, broke for it, tearing the wagon over sand hummocks and
crackling twigs. It was a feeble upwelling, exhausted by a single
draught. Each beast, desperately nosing in its coolness, drained it,
and there was a long wait ere the tiny depression filled again.
Finally, it was dried of its last drop, and the reluctant ooze stopped.
The animals, their thirst half slaked, drooped about it, looking with
mournful inquiry at the disturbed faces of their masters.


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