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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"

Last fall you hurt my pride and nearly scared
me to death by carrying me off in that lawless, headlong fashion of
yours. But you seemed to know just how I felt about it, and you played
fairer than any man I ever knew would have done under the same
circumstances. I didn't realize it until I got back into the civilized
world. And then all at once I found myself longing for you--and for
these old forests and the mountains and all. So I came back."
"Wise girl," he kissed her. "You'll never be sorry, I hope. It took
some nerve, too. It's a long trail from here to the outside. But this
North country--it gets in your blood--if your blood's red--and I don't
think there's any water in your veins, little person. Lord! I'm
afraid to let go of you for fear you'll vanish into nothing, like a
Hindu fakir stunt."
"No fear," Hazel laughed. "I've got a pony tied to a tree out there,
and four Siwashes and a camp outfit over by Crooked Lake. If I should
vanish I'd leave a plain trail for you to follow."
"Well," Bill said, after a short silence, "it's a hundred and forty
miles to a Hudson's Bay post where there's a mission and a preacher.
Let's be on our way and get married.


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