Gale poured the
contents of his larger canteen into his hat and held it to the horse's nose.
"Drink, Sol," he said.
It was but a drop for a thirsty horse. However, Blanco Sol rubbed
a wet muzzle against Gale's hand in appreciation. Gale loved the
horse, and was loved in return. They had saved each other's lives,
and had spent long days and nights of desert solitude together.
Sol had known other masters, though none so kind as this new one;
but it was certain that Gale had never before known a horse.
The spot of secluded ground was covered with bunches of galleta
grass upon which Sol began to graze. Gale made a long halter of
his lariat to keep the horse from wandering in search of water.
Next Gale kicked off the cumbersome chapparejos, with their flapping,
tripping folds of leather over his feet, and drawing a long rifle
from its leather sheath, he slipped away into the shadows.
The coyotes were howling, not here and there, but in concerted
volume at the head of the arroyo. To Dick this was no more reassuring
than had been the flickering light of the campfire. The wild desert
dogs, with their characteristic insolent curiosity, were baying men
round a campfire. Gale proceeded slowly, halting every few steps,
careful not to brush against the stiff greasewood. In the soft
sand his steps made no sound. The twinkling light vanished
occasionally, like a Jack-o'lantern, and when it did show it seemed
still a long way off.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139