The ground was like a cushion under Bolly's hoofs,
giving forth no sound. The mustang threw up her head, causing Hare to
peer into the night-fog. Rapid hoof-beats broke the silence, a vague
gray shadow moved into sight. He saw Silvermane and called as loudly as
he dared. The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating of
hoofs softened and ceased. Hare spurred Bolly to her fleetest. He had a
long, silent chase, but it was futile, and unnecessarily hard on the
mustang; so he pulled her in to a trot.
Hare kept Bolly to this gait the remainder of the night, and when the
eastern sky lightened he found the trail and reached Seeping Springs at
dawn. Silvermane's tracks were deep in the clay at the drinking-trough.
He rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, and
once more took to the trail.
From the ridge below the spring he saw Silvermane beyond the valley,
miles ahead of him. This day seemed shorter than the foregoing one; it
passed while he watched Silvermane grow smaller and smaller and disappear
on the looming slope of Coconina. Hare's fear that Mescal would run into
the riders Holderness expected from his ranch grew less and less after
she had reached the cover of the cedars.
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