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Updated: June 25, 2025
The editor scribbled frantically. In a few words aside he explained to us what Stewart was sending. Then he ordered the latter to proceed. "'Freight Number Eight was stopped by telegraph near Norwall. The fugitive, assuming correctly that it was slowing down for search, was seen by a brakeman fleeing across a pasture between the tracks and the eastern edge of Haystack Mountain.
"Miss Norwall's going to do some 'human interest sketches, as they call 'em," Francisco explained as he introduced his cousin. "Our editor believes in a 'literary touch' for the paper. Something rather new." Jean Norwall held out her hand.
It was useless to search these cabins; they were too near civilization. Besides, if Ruggam had left the freight at Norwall on the eastern side of Haystack at noon, he had thirty miles to travel before reaching the territory from which she was starting. So she skirted the abandoned quiet of the clearing, laid the snowshoes properly down before her and bound the thongs securely about her ankles.
She was an attractive, bright-eyed girl in her early twenties, with a searching, friendly look, as though life were full of surprises which she was eager to probe. "So you are Robert," she remarked. "Francisco's talked a lot about you." "That was good of him," the young man answered. "He's talked a deal of you as well, Miss Norwall." "Oh, indeed!" She reddened slightly.
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