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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"Flower of the North"

There he would have
them at his mercy, and at the point of his revolver would compel
them to tell him where Jeanne had been taken. The advantage was
all in his favor. It would not be difficult to make them prisoners
and leave them secured while he followed after their companions.
He was intent only upon his plan, and did not take his eyes from
the men over the fire. He came to the end of the bush, and
crouched with head and shoulders exposed, his revolver in his
hand. Suddenly a sound close to the tent startled him. It was a
low cough. The men over the fire made no movement to look behind
them, but Philip turned.
In the shadow of a tree, which had concealed her until now, sat
Jeanne. She was tense and straight. Her white face was turned to
him. Her beautiful eyes glowed like stars. Her lips were parted;
he could see her quick, excited breathing. She saw him! She knew
him! He could see the joy of hope in her face and that she was
crushing back an impulse to cry out to him, even as he was
restraining his own mad desire to shout out his defiance and joy.
And there in the firelight, his face illumined, and oblivious for
the moment of the presence of the two men, Philip straightened
himself and held out his arms with a glad smile to Jeanne.


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