Thornton W. Burgess - "Old Granny Fox"

Leonard Huxley - "The Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley Volume 2"

William Makepeace Thackeray - "The History of Pendennis"

Various editors - "The New Hacker's Dictionary version 4.2.2"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Trail of the Lonesome Pine

J >> John Fox, Jr. >> The Trail of the Lonesome Pine




"You got ME once," he muttered, "but this time I'll get YOU." He
turned quickly and decisively--there would be no more delay. And
he went back and climbed over the big oak that, instead of his
friend, had fallen victim to the lightning's kindly whim and led
his horse out into the underbrush. As he approached within ten
yards of the path, a metallic note rang faintly on the still air
the other side of the Pine and down the mountain. Something was
coming up the path, so he swiftly knotted his bridle-reins around
a sapling, stepped noiselessly into the path and noiselessly
slipped past the big tree where he dropped to his knees, crawled
forward and lay flat, peering over the cliff and down the winding
trail. He had not long to wait. A riderless horse filled the
opening in the covert of leaves that swallowed up the path. It was
gray and he knew it as he knew the saddle as his old enemy's--
Dave. Dave had kept his promise--he had come back. The dream was
coming true, and they were to meet at last face to face. One of
them was to strike a trail more lonesome than the Trail of the
Lonesome Pine, and that man would not be John Hale. One detail of
the dream was going to be left out, he thought grimly, and very
quietly he drew his pistol, cocked it, sighted it on the opening--
it was an easy shot--and waited. He would give that enemy no more
chance than he would a mad dog--or would he? The horse stopped to
browse. He waited so long that he began to suspect a trap. He
withdrew his head and looked about him on either side and behind--
listening intently for the cracking of a twig or a footfall. He
was about to push backward to avoid possible attack from the rear,
when a shadow shot from the opening. His face paled and looked
sick of a sudden, his clenched fingers relaxed about the handle of
his pistol and he drew it back, still cocked, turned on his knees,
walked past the Pine, and by the fallen oak stood upright,
waiting. He heard a low whistle calling to the horse below and a
shudder ran through him. He heard the horse coming up the path, he
clenched his pistol convulsively, and his eyes, lit by an
unearthly fire and fixed on the edge of the bowlder around which
they must come, burned an instant later on--June. At the cry she
gave, he flashed a hunted look right and left, stepped swiftly to
one side and stared past her-still at the bowlder. She had dropped
the reins and started toward him, but at the Pine she stopped
short.

"Where is he?"

Her lips opened to answer, but no sound came. Hale pointed at the
horse behind her.

"That's his. He sent me word. He left that horse in the valley, to
ride over here, when he came back, to kill me. Are you with him?"
For a moment she thought from his wild face that he had gone crazy
and she stared silently. Then she seemed to understand, and with a
moan she covered her face with her hands and sank weeping in a
heap at the foot of the Pine.

The forgotten pistol dropped, full cocked to the soft earth, and
Hale with bewildered eyes went slowly to her.

"Don't cry,"--he said gently, starting to call her name. "Don't
cry," he repeated, and he waited helplessly.

"He's dead. Dave was shot--out--West," she sobbed. "I told him I
was coming back. He gave me his horse. Oh, how could you?"

"Why did you come back?" he asked, and she shrank as though he had
struck her--but her sobs stopped and she rose to her feet.

"Wait," she said, and she turned from him to wipe her eyes with
her handerchief. Then she faced him.

"When dad died, I learned everything. You made him swear never to
tell me and he kept his word until he was on his death-bed. YOU
did everything for me. It was YOUR money. YOU gave me back the old
cabin in the Cove. It was always you, you, YOU, and there was
never anybody else but you." She stopped for Hale's face was as
though graven from stone.

"And you came back to tell me that?"

"Yes."

"You could have written that."

"Yes," she faltered, "but I had to tell you face to face."

"Is that all?"

Again the tears were in her eyes.

"No," she said tremulously.

"Then I'll say the rest for you. You wanted to come to tell me of
the shame you felt when you knew," she nodded violently--"but you
could have written that, too, and I could have written that you
mustn't feel that way--that" he spoke slowly--"you mustn't rob me
of the dearest happiness I ever knew in my whole life."

"I knew you would say that," she said like a submissive child. The
sternness left his face and he was smiling now.

"And you wanted to say that the only return you could make was to
come back and be my wife."

"Yes," she faltered again, "I did feel that--I did."

"You could have written that, too, but you thought you had to
PROVE it by coming back yourself."

This time she nodded no assent and her eyes were streaming. He
turned away--stretching out his arms to the woods.

"God! Not that--no--no!"

"Listen, Jack!" As suddenly his arms dropped. She had controlled
her tears but her lips were quivering.

"No, Jack, not that--thank God. I came because I wanted to come,"
she said steadily. "I loved you when I went away. I've loved you
every minute since--"her arms were stealing about his neck, her
face was upturned to his and her eyes, moist with gladness, were
looking into his wondering eyes--"and I love you now--Jack."

"June!" The leaves about them caught his cry and quivered with the
joy of it, and above their heads the old Pine breathed its
blessing with the name--June--June--June.