A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



the baby go to bed, and the hour of daylight seemed 

 ample in which to make 1 2 miles to town. I did not 

 care to get caught in the mesquites after dark on a 

 bad night. Things did look pretty bad, though. The 

 atmosphere was sullen; scarcely any air stirred. 

 There was a sort of oppressive hush. Greenish and 

 yellowish tints hung like veils of vapor about the 

 clouds. The dying day sent its flickering shadows 

 like a ghastly smile, as if to say, "You and the night 

 for it. I'm off." I gave Beauty the word, and we 

 hit the trail at a strong distance-covering gait, which 

 I knew she could keep. 



A mile traveled, and she was sweating; the air 

 seemed almost hot. Half a mile further we passed a 

 settler's house which looked mighty good in the deep- 

 ening gloom, but we had started, and the storm 

 might go around. A quarter further and we shot 

 into a cool current of air, as if it were out of a hot 

 bath into a cold room. The mare shivered; then 

 we met a distinctly cold breeze, and on came the 

 storm. Beauty turned as it struck, but responded 

 promptly to the rein, faced it for a few yards, and 

 then reared and turned. Again she took it, this time 

 with the bit in her teeth, and went at it as though try- 

 ing to jerk a load through a mud bog, her blood up, 

 and fighting hard. My head was almost on my 

 breast ; the rain beat with fierce force, and I was glad 

 after ten yards of fight to have her turn again. We 

 seemed to be in one glare of electricity and a roar as 



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