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The Girl from Montana by Grace Livingston Hill
page 23 of 221 (10%)
way. He liked the high mountain trails, where he could step firmly and
hear the twigs crackle under his feet, not this muffled, velvet way where
one made so little progress and had to work so hard.

The girl's heart sank as they went on, for the sand seemed deep and
drifted in places. She felt she was losing time. The way ahead looked
endless, as if they were but treading sand behind them which only returned
in front to be trodden over again. It was to her like the valley of the
dead, and she longed to get out of it. A great fear lest the moon should
go down and leave her in this low valley alone in the dark took hold upon
her. She felt she must get away, up higher. She turned the horse a little
more to the right, and he paused, and seemed to survey the new direction
and to like it. He stepped up more briskly, with a courage that could come
only from an intelligent hope for better things. And at last they were
rewarded by finding the sand shallower, and now and then a bit of rock
cropping out for a firmer footing.

The young rider dismounted, and untied the burlap from the horse's feet.
He seemed to understand, and to thank her as he nosed about her neck. He
thought, perhaps, that their mission was over and they were going to
strike out for home now.

The ground rose steadily before them now, and at times grew quite steep;
but the horse was fresh as yet, and clambered upward with good heart; and
the rider was used to rough places, and felt no discomfort from her
position. The fear of being followed had succeeded to the fear of being
lost, for the time being; and instead of straining her ears on the track
behind she was straining her eyes to the wilderness before. The growth of
sage-brush was dense now, and trees were ahead.

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