Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit.
"Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up over Coconina?"
asked Hare.
"Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions.
There's no trail, but Navajos have crossed the river at this season, and
worked up a canyon."
The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high up on
the ramparts had chilled and waned when Hare and Mescal sat down to their
meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then in the
twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to the low
thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had retired into her hogan Hare
lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listened to the
low roll, the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters. The
place was like the oasis, only infinitely more hidden under the cliffs.
A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung, beaconlike, on
the crest of a noble crag. There were times when he imagined the valley
was as silent as the desert night, and other times when he imagined he
heard the thundering roll of avalanches and the tramp of armies.
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