"
Some distance away a match flared in the darkness and went out, and
dimly by the little light of the stars Alice made out the form of the
half-breed seated upon his rock beside the trail. Motionless as the
rock itself the man sat humped over with his arms entwining his knees.
A sombre figure, and one that fitted intrinsically into the scene--the
dark shapes of the three horses that snipped grass beside the trail,
the soft murmur of the waters of the creek as they purled over the
stones, the black wall of the coulee, with the mountains rising
beyond--all bespoke the wild that since childhood she had pictured, but
never before had seen. Under any other circumstances the setting would
have appealed, would have thrilled her to the soul. But now--over and
over through her brain repeated the question: Where is he?
A horse nickered softly and raising his head, sniffed the night air.
The Indian stepped from his rock and stood alert with his eyes on the
reach of the back-trail. And then softly, almost inaudibly to the ears
of the girl came the sound of horses' hoofs pounding the trail in
monotonous rhythm.
Leaping to her feet she rushed forward in time to see Bat catch up the
reins of the three horses and slip noiselessly into the shelter of a
bunch of scrub willows. In a moment she was at his side and the Indian
thrust the reins into her hand.
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