As each man developed he
took on some aspect of the desert--Holderness had the amber clearness of
its distances in his eyes, its deceit in his soul; August Naab, the
magnificence of the desert-pine in his giant form, its strength in his
heart; Snap Naab, the cast of the hawk-beak in his face, its cruelty in
his nature. But all shared alike in the common element of survival--
ferocity. August Naab had subdued his to the promptings of a Christ-like
spirit; yet did not his very energy, his wonderful tirelessness, his will
to achieve, his power to resist, partake of that fierceness? Moreover,
after many struggles, he too had been overcome by the desert's call for
blood. His mystery was no longer a mystery. Always in those moments of
revelation which he disclaimed, he had seen himself as faithful to the
desert in the end.
Hare's slumbers that night were broken. He dreamed of a great gray horse
leaping in the sky from cloud to cloud with the lightning and the thunder
under his hoofs, the storm-winds sweeping from his silver mane. He
dreamed of Mescal's brooding eyes. They were dark gateways of the desert
open only to him, and he entered to chase the alluring stars deep into
the purple distance.
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