43 



part, but lay nose between paws 

 watching me as I sang, perhaps liking 

 the sound that the Poet had made 

 when he strung the words together 



'Swiftly walk over the western wave, 



Spirit of night ! 

 Out of the misty eastern cave 

 Where, all the long and lone daylight, 

 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 

 Which make thee terrible and dear, 



Swift be thy flight! ..." 



The little dog raised her nose and 

 sniffed tentatively, then arose in an 

 attitude of attention. A horseman 

 was galloping towards us. Undine 

 sniffed again, gave a low growl, and 

 crawled out of sight under a pile 

 of canvas. A dirty swarthy little 

 man drew rein, almost pulled the 

 poor creature to its haunches. 

 Flecked with foam, it stood trem- 

 bling, breathing heavily. 



"The Mexican sheep-herder of 

 course," I thought, * 'cruel to every- 

 thing, beware of little black men, 

 all devil soul like a pin-point," 

 where had I heard that! 



"Giv'-a the dog," he demanded, 

 scowling down at me. Something 

 inside got % uncomfortably large and 



