Then he turned to the trail in front, and her face, as it had been when
he first saw her and as it was now, came back to his memory. Once,
toward midnight, he drew up till they reached him, her horse's muzzle
nosing soft against his pony's flank. He could see the gleam of her
eyes, fastened on him, wide and anxious.
"Get into the wagon and ride," he commanded.
"Why? He's no worse! He's sleeping."
"I was thinking of you. This is too hard for you. It'll wear you out."
"Oh, I'm all right," she said with a slight movement of impatience.
"Don't worry about me. Go on."
He returned to his post and she paced slowly on, keeping level with the
wheels. It was very still, only the creaking of the wagon and the hoof
beats on the dust. She kept her eyes on his receding shape, watched it
disappear in dark turns, then emerge into faintly illumined stretches.
It moved steadily, without quickening of gait, a lonely shadow that
they followed through the unknown to hope. Her glance hung to it, her
ear strained for the thud of his pony's feet, sight and sound of him
came to her like a promise of help.
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