The Fighting Edge (Classic Reprint)

A iA: OHS he stood in the doorway, a patched and ragged Cinderella of the desert. Upon her slim, ill-poised figure thi descending sun slanted a shaft of glory. It caught in a spotlight the cheap, dingy gown, the coarse stockings through the holes of which white flesh peeped, the heavy, broken brogans that disfigured the feet. It beat upon a small head with a mass of black, wild-flying hair, on red lips curved with discontent, into dark eyes passionate and resentful at what fate had made of her young life. A silent, sullen lass, one might have guessed, and the judgment would have been true as most first impressions. The girl watched her father drive half a dozen dogies into the mountain corral perched precariously on the hillside. Soon now it would be dusk. She went back into the cabin and began to prepare supper. In the rickety stove she made a fire of cottonwood. There was a business-like efi Sciency in the way she peeled potatoes, prepared the venison for the fryingpan, and mixed the biscuit dough. June Tolliver and her father lived alone on Piceance Creek. Their nearest neighbor was a trapper on Eighteen-M ile Hill. From one months end to another she did Fro Bouaced Pee-ance.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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