THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
self; and, as he recovered footing, the cluck of the sand, the sensation of being pulled, brought up another moment under the beating sun at the foot of a cliff.
Across the ford they were upon a more level way. On this side the rise of the land from the creek was gradual, and the trail, made by cattle to the water, was easy to follow. It drifted along at the foot of the hills, growing fainter as the trees grew thin. Fifteen minutes, and he heard a sound his ear recognized, often heard at such an hour of night—the trampling to and fro of feet, and tossing of branches as if restless bodies moved among them. "There are horses!" he said.
"Yes." The sentence fell unsurprised. She looked down significantly, and by the glance drew his attention to the fact that she wore her riding skirt. A few steps farther and swinging stirrups, bright eyes under forelocks, and glossy flanks appeared. He recognized Blanche's mustang, drooping like a stoic—but this other creature that was threshing among the pine leaves—could that be the chestnut—his mare? Early in the evening he had left her safe in stable. Here she stood in the wilderness, blanketed and tied to a dead pine. She flung up a startled head—and, seeing Carron, whinnied. He ran to her, felt her, and found her right
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