We've an
hour before the outlaws come up, and if they don't go round the sand-dune
we'll have longer."
Hare's flagging senses rallied, and he forgot himself in wonder. While
the bustle went on, unhitching of wagon-teams, hobbling and feeding of
horses, unpacking of camp-supplies, Naab appeared to be lost in deep
meditation or prayer. Not once did he glance backward over the trail on
which peril was fast approaching. His gaze was fastened on a ridge to
the east where desert line, fringed by stunted cedars, met the pale-blue
sky, and for a long time he neither spoke nor stirred. At length he
turned to the camp-fire; he raked out red coals, and placed the iron pots
in position, by way of assistance to the women who were preparing the
evening meal.
A cool wind blew in from the desert, rustling the sage, sifting the sand,
fanning the dull coals to burning opals. Twilight failed and night fell;
one by one great stars shone out, cold and bright. From the zone of
blackness surrounding the camp burst the short bark, the hungry whine,
the long-drawn-out wail of desert wolves.
"Supper, sons," called Naab, as he replenished the fire with an armful of
grease-wood.
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