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Nicholson, Meredith, 1866-1947

"The Port of Missing Men"


On his flight northward from Washington and southward down the Atlantic
capes, the thought that Shirley Claiborne and her family must now believe
him an ignoble scoundrel had wrought misgivings and pain in his heart;
but at least he would soon be near her--even now she might be somewhere
below in the lovely valley, and he drew off his hat and stared down upon
what was glorified and enchanted ground.
"Let us go," he said presently.
Oscar saluted, standing bridle in hand.
"You will find it easier to walk," he said, and, leading their horses,
they retraced their steps for several hundred yards along the ridge, then
mounted and proceeded slowly down again until they came to a mountain
road. Presently a high wire fence followed at their right, where the
descent was sharply arrested, and they came to a barred wooden gate, and
beside it a small cabin, evidently designed for a lodge.
"This is the place, sir," and Oscar dismounted and threw open the gate.
The road within followed the rough contour of the hillside, that still
turned downward until it broadened into a wooded plateau.


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