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In The Carquinez Woods
Bret Harte

Page 1 of 229


IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 

by Bret Harte 

CHAPTER I. 

The sun was going down on the Carquinez Woods.  The few shafts of
sunlight that had pierced their pillared gloom were lost in
unfathomable depths, or splintered their ineffectual lances on
the enormous trunks of the redwoods.  For a time the dull red of
their vast columns, and the dull red of their cast-off bark which
matted the echoless aisles, still seemed to hold a faint glow of
the dying day.  But even this soon passed.  Light and color fled
upwards.  The dark interlaced treetops, that had all day made an
impenetrable shade, broke into fire here and there; their lost
spires glittered, faded, and went utterly out.  A weird twilight
that did not come from the outer world, but seemed born of the
wood itself, slowly filled and possessed the aisles.  The
straight, tall, colossal trunks rose dimly like columns of upward

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