SON OF THE WIND
he heard it on the right, now on the left among the trees; and at intervals his eyes saw a black, gleaming body shooting like an apparition across the open space. It disappeared and turned on itself, and appeared again! The water was churned white in the ford.
That was a fine charge of fate, a brave challenge of the inevitable—but not over it! The hoofs that could dash out a man's brains scattered pebbles. Swiftness that had covered long distances straight now ran in a circle like insanity. Birth of the winds, skimmer over the world, by all miracles he was real! He was caught between walls of earthly stuff; and a little drunken human being, drunk with his moment of power, danced among the boulders, threw up his hat idiotically toward the moon, and raised his voice in a quavering cheer.
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