Stepping from the tent, she saw the dead ashes of the
little fire and the contents of the packs apparently undisturbed,
covered with the tarp. She glanced at her watch. It was half past
nine. Suddenly she remembered that dawn had already began to grey the
east when they retired. She was the first one up! She would let the
others sleep. They needed it. She remembered the Texan had not slept
the day before, but had ridden away to return later with the clothing
for Endicott--and the whiskey.
"I don't see why he has to drink!" she muttered, and making her way to
the spring, dipped some water from the catch-basin and splashed it over
her face and arms. The cold water dispelled the last vestige of
sleepiness and she stood erect and breathed deeply of the crystal air.
At the farther side of the bowl-like plateau the horses grazed
contentedly, and a tiny black and white woodpecker flew from tree to
tree pecking busily at the bark. Above the edge of the rim-rocks the
high-flung peaks of the Bear Paws belied the half-night's ride that
separated them from the isolated Antelope Butte.
"What a view one should get from the edge!" she exclaimed, and turning
from the spring, made her way through the scraggly timber to the rock
wall beyond. It was not a long climb and five minutes later she stood
panting with exertion and leaned against an upstanding pinnacle of
jagged rock.
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