This tale of
laborious days bounded by the fires of sunrise and sunset, this
struggle with the primal forces of storm and flood, this passage across
a panorama unrolling in ever wilder majesty, was the setting for her
love idyl. The joy of her mounting spirit broke out in an answering
cry that flew across the river to David like the call of an animal to
its mate.
She watched them yoking on Bess and Ben and men and animals bracing
their energies for the start. David drove the horses, walking beside
them, the reins held loose in hands that made upward, urging gestures
as the team breasted the ascent. It was a savage pull. The valiant
little mules bent their necks, the horses straining, iron muscled,
hoofs grinding down to the solid clay. The first charge carried them
half way up, then there was a moment of slackened effort, a relaxing,
recuperative breath, and the wagon came to a standstill. Leff ran for
the back, shouting a warning. The branch he thrust under the wheel was
ground to splinters and the animals grew rigid in their effort to
resist the backward drag.
Leff gripped the wheel, cursing, his hands knotted round the spokes,
his back taut and muscle-ridged under the thin shirt.
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