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Hill, Grace Livingston, 1865-1947

"The Girl from Montana"

If she
could but get up higher where she could see farther, and perhaps reach a
bench where there would be grass and some shelter.
It was only a brief rest she allowed; and then, hastily packing up her
stores, and retaining some dry corn bread and a few beans in her pocket,
she mounted and rode on.
The morning grew hot, and the way was long. As the ground rose again, it
was stony and overgrown with cactus. A great desolation took possession of
the girl. She felt as if she were in an endless flight from an unseen
pursuer, who would never give up until he had her.
It was high noon by the glaring sun when she suddenly saw another human
being. At first she was not quite sure whether he were human. It was only
a distant view of a moving speck; but it was coming toward her, though
separated by a wide valley that had stretched already for miles. He was
moving along against the sky-line on a high bench on one side of the
valley, and she mounting as fast as her weary beast would go to the top of
another, hoping to find a grassy stretch and a chance to rest.
But the sight of the moving speck startled her. She watched it
breathlessly as they neared each other. Could it be a wild beast? No, it
must be a horse and rider. A moment later there came a puff of smoke as
from a rifle discharged, followed by the distant echo of the discharge. It
was a man, and he was yet a great way off. Should she turn and flee before
she was discovered? But where? Should she go back? No, a thousand times,
no! Her enemy was there.


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