And yet, the moment I passed it, I saw through
one unclosed window on the northside light. Unreasonably
I shuddered.
This house, too, became a much-looked-for landmark to me on
my future drives. I learned that it stood on the range line
and called it the "White Range Line House." There hangs
a story by this house. Maybe I shall one day tell it...
Beyond the great and awe-inspiring poplar-bluff the trail
took a sharp turn eastward. From the southwest another
rut-road joined it at the bend. I could only just make
it out in the dark, for even moonlight was fading fast
now. The sudden, reverberating tramp of the horse's feet
betrayed that I was crossing a culvert. I had been absorbed
in getting my bearings, and so it came as a surprise. It
had not been mentioned in the elaborate directions which
I had received with regard to the road to follow. For a
moment, therefore, I thought I must be on the wrong trail.
But just then the dim view, which had been obstructed by
copses and thickets, cleared ahead in the last glimmer
of the moon, and I made out the back cliff of forest
darkly looming in the north--that forest I knew.
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