The small hours had come when one by one they dropped to sleep as they
lay. A twist of the blanket, a squirming into deeper comfort, and rest
was on them. They sprawled in the caked dust like dead men fallen in
battle and left as they had dropped. Even the girl forgot the habits
of a life-long observance and sunk to sleep among them, her head on a
saddle, the old servant curled at her feet.
CHAPTER III
In the even dawn light the strangers left. It was hail and farewell in
desert meetings. They trotted off into the ghostlike stillness of the
plain which for a space threw back their hoof beats, and then closed
round them. The departure of the westward band was not so prompt.
With unbound packs and unharnessed animals, they stood, a dismayed
group, gathered round a center of disturbance. David was ill. The
exertions of the day before had drained his last reserve of strength.
He could hardly stand, complained of pain, and a fever painted his
drawn face with a dry flush. Under their concerned looks, he climbed
on his horse, swayed there weakly, then slid off and dropped on the
ground.
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