The time seemed endless in its futility of results, but fleeting after it had
passed; and he could tell how the hours fled by the ever-recurring need to
replenish the little fire he kept burning in the pass.
A broad belt of valley grew bright in the light, and behind it loomed the
monuments, weird and dark, with columns of yellow and white smoke wreathing
them.
Suddenly Slone's sensitive ear vibrated to a thrilling sound. He leaned down
to place his ear to the sand. Rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs made him leap to
his feet, reaching for his lasso with right hand and a gun with his left.
Nagger lifted his head, sniffed the air, and snorted. Slone peered into the
black belt of gloom that lay below him. It would be hard to see a horse there,
unless he got high enough to be silhouetted against that line of fire now
flaring to the sky. But he heard the beat of hoofs, swift, sharp,
louder--louder. The night shadows were deceptive. That wonderful light
confused him, made the place unreal. Was he dreaming? Or had the long chase
and his privations unhinged his mind? He reached for Nagger.
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