Thirst she did not fear, for the recent
heavy rain had left waterholes everywhere.
With action her spirit lightened and the numbness of hands and feet
left her. Time passed swiftly. The sun stood straight overhead
before she realized she had walked miles; and it declined westward
as she skulked like an Indian from tree to tree, from bush to bush,
along the first bench of the valley floor.
Night overtook her at the gateway of the valley. The vast monotony
of the plains opened before her like a gulf. She feared it. She
found a mound of earth with a wind-worn shelf in its side and
overgrown with sage; and into this she crawled, curled in the sand
and prayed and slept.
Next day she took up a position a few hundred yards from the trail
and followed its course, straining her eyes to see before and behind
her, husbanding her strength with frequent rests, and drinking from
every pool.
That day, like its predecessor, passed swiftly by and left her well
out upon the huge, billowy bosom of the plains. Again she sought a
hiding-place, but none offered. There was no warmth in the sand, and
the night wind arose, cold and moaning. She could not sleep. The
whole empty world seemed haunted. Rustlings of the sage, seepings of
the sand, gusts of the wind, the night, the loneliness, the
faithless stars and a treacherous moon that sank, the wailing of
wolves--all these things worked upon her mind and spirit until she
lost her courage.
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