That slender band lent her the one touch which made
her a Navajo. Was it worn in respect to her aged grandfather? What did
this mean for a girl reared with Christian teaching? Was it desert
blood? Hare had no answers for these questions. They only increased the
mystery and romance. He fell asleep with the picture in his mind of
Eschtah and Mescal, sitting in the glow of the fire, and of August Naab,
nodding silently.
"Jack, Jack, wake up." The words broke dully into his slumbers; wearily
he opened his eyes. August Naab bent over him, shaking him gently.
"Not so well this morning, eh? Here's a cup of coffee. We're all packed
and starting. Drink now, and climb aboard. We expect to make Seeping
Springs to-night."
Hare rose presently and, laboring into the wagon, lay down on the sacks.
He had one of his blind, sickening headaches. The familiar lumbering of
wheels began, and the clanking of the wagon-chain. Despite jar and jolt
he dozed at times, awakening to the scrape of the wheel on the leathern
brake. After a while the rapid descent of the wagon changed to a roll,
without the irritating rattle.
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