There was no other sound. The coyotes
had ceased their hungry cries. Gale dropped to sleep, and slept
soundly during the first half of the night; and after that he seemed
always to be partially awake, aware of increasing cold and damp.
The dark mantle turned gray, and then daylight came quickly. The
morning was clear and nipping cold. He threw off the wet blanket
and got up cramped and half frozen. A little brisk action was all
that was necessary to warm his blood and loosen his muscles, and
then he was fresh, tingling, eager. The sun rose in a golden blaze,
and the descending valley took on wondrous changing hues. Then
he fetched up Blanco Sol, saddled him, and tied him to the thickest
clump of mesquite.
"Sol, we'll have a drink pretty soon," he said, patting the splendid
neck.
Gale meant it. He would not eat till he had watered his horse.
Sol had gone nearly forty-eight hours without a sufficient drink,
and that was long enough, even for a desert-bred beast. No three
raiders could keep Gale away from that well. Taking his rifle in
hand, he faced up the arroyo. Rabbits were frisking in the short
willows, and some were so tame he could have kicked them. Gale
walked swiftly for a goodly part of the distance, and then, when he
saw blue smoke curling up above the trees, he proceeded slowly,
with alert eye and ear. From the lay of the land and position of
trees seen by daylight, he found an easier and safer course that
the one he had taken in the dark.
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