It was the riata with which
he had picketed the pony. He meant to travel again that night. He would
sleep a little while. The horse, circling the picket, would be sure to
awaken him again.
He slept heavily. The Yuma colt stood with rounded nostrils sniffing the
night air. The pony faced in the direction of the distant town. She knew
that another horse and rider were coming toward her through the
darkness. They were far off, but coming.
For a long time she stood stamping impatiently at intervals. Finally she
grew restive. The oncoming horse had stopped. That other animal, the
man, had dismounted and was coming toward her on foot. She could not see
through the starlit blanket of night, but she knew.
The man-thing drew a little nearer. The pony swerved as if about to run,
but hesitated, ears flattened, curious, half-belligerent.
* * * * *
That afternoon Silent Saunders, riding along the border of the desert
town, had seen a strange horse and rider far out--away from the road and
evidently heading for the water-hole. Saunders rode into town, borrowed
a pair of field-glasses, and rode out again. He at once recognized the
roan pony as the Oro outlaw, but the rider? He was not so sure.
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