Frost whitened the ground at dawn,
and held half the day in the shade. Winter was close at the heels of the
long autumn.
As for Hare, true to August Naab's assertion, he had lost flesh and
suffered, and though the process was heartbreaking in its severity, he
hung on till he hardened into a leather lunged, wire-muscled man, capable
of keeping pace with his companions.
He began his day with the dawn when he threw off the frost-coated
tarpaulin; the icy water brought him a glow of exhilaration; he drank in
the spiced cold air, and there was the spring of the deer-hunter in his
step as he went down the slope for his horse. He no longer feared that
Silvermane would run away. The gray's bell could always be heard near
camp in the mornings, and when Hare whistled there came always the
answering thump of hobbled feet. When Silvermane saw him striding
through the cedars or across the grassy belt of the valley he would neigh
his gladness. Hare had come to love Silvermane and talked to him and
treated him as if he were human.
When the mustangs were brought into camp the day's work began, the same
work as that of yesterday, and yet with endless variety, with
ever-changing situations that called for quick wits, steel arms, stout
hearts, and unflagging energies.
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