But then it might be
the Creeches. Slone had an uneasy return of puzzling thoughts. These, however,
did not hinder drowsiness, and, deciding that the first thing in the morning
he would trail the Creeches, just to see where they had gone, he fell asleep.
In the morning the bright, broad day, with its dispelling reality, made Slone
regard himself differently. Things that oppressed him in the dark of night
vanished in the light of the sun. Still, he was curious about the Creeches,
and after he had done his morning's work he strolled out to take up their
trail. It was not hard to follow in the lane, for no other horses had gone in
that direction since the Creeches had left.
Once up on the wide, windy slope the reach and color and fragrance seemed to
call to Slone irresistibly, and he fell to trailing these tracks just for the
love of a skill long unused. Half a mile out the road turned toward Durango.
But the Creeches did not continue on that road. They entered the sage.
Instantly Slone became curious.
He followed the tracks to a pile of rocks where the Creeches had made a
greasewood fire and had cooked a meal.
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