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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation"

It was like her dogged, stupid father
to miss the trail; she felt a gleam of malicious satisfaction at his
discomfiture. Sooner or later, he would have to retrace his steps and
virtually come back for her! She took up a position where two rough
wheel ruts and tracks intersected each other, one of which must be
the missing trail. She noticed, too, the broader hoof-prints of cattle
without the following wheel ruts, and instead of traces, the long smooth
trails made by the dragging of logs, and knew by these tokens that she
must be near the highway or some woodman's hut or ranch. She began to be
thirsty, and was glad, presently, when her quick, rustic ear caught
the tinkling of water. Yet it was not so easy to discover, and she was
getting footsore and tired again before she found it, some distance
away, in a gully coming from a fissure in a dislocated piece of outcrop.
It was beautifully clear, cold, and sparkling, with a slightly sweetish
taste, yet unlike the brackish "alkali" of the plains.


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