SON OF THE WIND
the wind. He breathed deep as if drawing the future to him. If he had done as he pleased he would have returned with his man from Beckwith straight to the camp in the shadow of the Sphinx. But there was no avoiding the stop at Raders'. Since he had told them he would be back that night it would be safe to put in an appearance and let them know that everything was all right, especially since that appearance of George Ferrier. It was midday before he left his vaquero to wait for him at the foot of Rader's Hill and ascended the road between the bending trees.
All this country which for so long had lain asleep in the sun was beginning to stir uneasily in the shadow of the cloud. A shiver, rather than a wind, was in the wood. The road was without its diamonds of light; the clearing before the house without its noon circle of sun. The house itself looked as small to him and as frail as a paper box. He felt that he could kick it over. There was a continuous, dry rustling of dead stuff. The rushing of the pines sounded like surf. It was glorious weather! He jumped out of saddle and ran along the porch. How beautiful to rush in on them and tell them about it! Why, in the name of Heaven, were women such strange sweet fools?
He heard the barking of a dog inside, and opening
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