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The Trail of the Lonesome Pine by John Fox
page 40 of 363 (11%)

Yet nothing was in sight now but a valley farmhouse above the ford
where he must cross the river and one log cabin on the hill
beyond. Still on the other river was the only woollen mill in
miles around; farther up was the only grist mill, and near by was
the only store, the only blacksmith shop and the only hotel. That
much of a start the gap had had for three-quarters of a century--
only from the south now a railroad was already coming; from the
east another was travelling like a wounded snake and from the
north still another creeped to meet them. Every road must run
through the gap and several had already run through it lines of
survey. The coal was at one end of the gap, and the iron ore at
the other, the cliffs between were limestone, and the other
elements to make it the iron centre of the world flowed through it
like a torrent.

"Selah! It's a shame to take the money."

He splashed into the creek and his big black horse thrust his nose
into the clear running water. Minnows were playing about him. A
hog-fish flew for shelter under a rock, and below the ripples a
two-pound bass shot like an arrow into deep water.

Above and below him the stream was arched with beech, poplar and
water maple, and the banks were thick with laurel and
rhododendron. His eye had never rested on a lovelier stream, and
on the other side of the town site, which nature had kindly lifted
twenty feet above the water level, the other fork was of equal
clearness, swiftness and beauty.

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