Yet Red King struck the level with a reserve strength
that was betrayed by the way he fought for his head as he saw the level
stretch before him. He was warmed up--he wanted to run.
But Lawler drew him down in an effort to locate the herd before he
started toward it.
Man and horse made a mere blot on the yawning expanse of land that
stretched away from them in all directions. A lone eagle in the sky or a
mariner adrift on a deserted sea could not have seemed more isolated
than Lawler and Red King. In this limitless expanse of waste land horse
and rider were dwarfed to the proportion of atoms. The yawning, aching,
stretching miles of level seemed to have no end.
Several miles into the north Lawler saw the herd. Directly westward, at
a distance of about a mile, he saw the line cabin. No smoke was issuing
from the chimney; and so far as he could discern, there were no men with
the cattle.
Harris and Davies had overstayed. That knowledge might have been
responsible for the grim humor in Lawler's eyes; but the rigidness of
his body and the aggressive thrust to his chin were caused by knowledge
of a different character. The storm was about to break.
The sun was casting a dull red glow through the gray haze. It was
blotted out as he looked.
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