He could not remember the time, save that memorable
day on the mesa, when he had run so
hard and so continuously. Yet ahead lay trees,
and instinctively he accepted them as his destination.
In that grove perhaps was water, an opportunity
for rest, and abundance of food. So he
continued forward, grimly conscious of his burning
ankles, his pounding and fluttering heart and
heaving and clamoring lungs -- plunging forward
under the weak urging of his heavy master, responding
now through force of habit -- feeling that
because he was in motion he must continue in
motion. It was a numb, mechanical effort, involuntary
and apart from him, as much apart
from his control as was the beating of his heart.

Another volley came from the rear, and with
it another violent change in his master. The man
cried out and loosened his feet in the stirrups.
Yet Pat continued to gallop until he felt the
weight slowly leaving him, felt it go altogether,
felt it dangling from one stirrup. Then he came
to a stop. As he did so the little gray dashed past
--?? his friend. And now great loneliness gripped
him. He started forward. But the weight in his
stirrup checked him. He came to a stop again.
Then he wanted to nicker in protest, but he found
that he could not. He was too weak to utter
sound. So he stood there, his eyes upon the little
gray and her rider, watching them hurtling toward
the grove. Then the thudding of hoofs came to
his ears from the rear, and, slowly turning, he saw
a group of horsemen riding wearily -- one hatless;

[[207]]

p206 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p207w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p208

v?