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creaking of wheels. The blue caravan was close to him, passing him slowly. His eyes were strained upon the doorway, where Hugh sat, his little face happy and excited as he pointed to two cantering riders who passed on the other side. The trees hid them as the next caravan lurched into view.

It was that memory of Hugh that John Russell bore away with him in the time that followed: an eager, laughing face. It was, perhaps, as well that he had not seen Big Dan Peterson's.

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