She ran toward him crying, "Wait and have some
breakfast. I'll get it for you."
He continued to pay no attention to her, glancing down at his foot as
it felt for the stirrup. She stopped short, repulsed by his manner,
watching him as he sent a forward look over the tracks of the lost
horses. They wound into the distance fading amid the sweep of
motionless sage. It would be a long search and the day was already
hot. Pity rose above all other feelings, and she said:
"Have they told you what they're going to do? Whether we'll wait here
or go on and have you catch us up?"
"I don't know what they're going to do and don't care," he answered,
and touching the horse with his spur rode away between the brushing
bushes.
She turned to Daddy John, her eyes full of alarmed question.
"He knows all about it," said the old man with slow phlegm, "I told him
myself. There's food and water for him packed on behind the saddle, I
done that too. He'd have gone without it just to spite himself. We'll
rest here this morning, and if he ain't back by noon move on slow till
he catches us up. Don't you worry.
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