Lifting his hat, he greeted her with easy assurance; a confident,
triumphant smile upon his heavy features.
White-faced and trembling, the mountain girl--who a few moments before,
had been so unafraid--stood shrinking before this cultured representative
of the arts. Returning his salutation, she was starting hurriedly away
down the trail, when he said, "Wait. Why be in such a hurry?"
As if against her will, she paused. "It is growing late," she faltered; "I
must go."
He laughed. "I will go with you presently. Don't be afraid." Coming
forward, with an air of making himself very much at home, he placed his
rifle against the tree where she had been sitting. Then, as if to calm her
fears, he continued, "I am camped at Burnt Pine, with a party of friends.
I was up here looking for deer sign when I noticed you below, at the cabin
there. I was just starting down to you, when I saw that you were going to
come up; so I waited. Beautiful spot--this--don't you think?--so out of
the way, too. Just the place for a quiet little visit."
As the man spoke, he was eyeing her in a way that only served to confuse
and frighten her the more. Murmuring some inaudible reply, she again
started to go.
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