Spurring Bolly into a trot he rode forward with a strange elation. He
had slipped out of the oasis unheard, and it would be morning before
August Naab discovered his absence, perhaps longer before he divined his
purpose. Then Hare would have a long start. He thrilled with something
akin to fear when he pictured the old man's rage, and wondered what
change it would make in his plans. Hare saw in mind Naab and his sons,
and the Navajos sweeping in pursuit to save him from the rustlers.
But the future must take care of itself, and he addressed all the
faculties at his command to cool consideration of the present. The strip
of sand under the Blue Star had to be crossed at night--a feat which even
the Navajos did not have to their credit. Yet Hare had no shrinking; he
had no doubt; he must go on. As he had been drawn to the Painted Desert
by a voiceless call, so now he was urged forward by something nameless.
In the blackness of the night it seemed as if he were riding through a
vaulted hall swept by a current of air. The night had turned cold, the
stars had brightened icily, the rumble of the river had died away when
Bolly's ringing trot suddenly changed to a noiseless floundering walk.
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