‘Yes, I see that he is being well taken care of. The horses might call to any horses traveling by--’ His words were getting slower and quieter, but there was in his body and brain an intolerable burden having to do with the thought of to-morrow--not only to-morrow, but ‘many days.’ It had been all he could do to live through to-day. Now he left her, knowing she would steal back to the little room at once. He crossed the inner garden, the room of the harp, nodding to the elders, crossed the yard, passed out through the dobe gate--in unbroken darkness, moving toward the alders of the creek-bed. His feet dragged; the early night, so dark that he had to keep constant thought to the road, burdened by the sack of grain over his shoulder. Still distant from the alders, he began to listen for Mamie’s signal, but the sound of trotting hoofs came instead. One horse only, coming his way, no accompaniment of wheels. He let down the grain-bag at the side of the road, instinctively aware that if either of his horses had pulled loose a hunch like this on his shoulder would make any effort at capture practically impossible in the dark. ‘Hoo-ooo, baby, easy, little one!’ he softly intoned. He could see no movement yet; the hoofs were still. Then like an explosion, a snorting blast of fright from the horse ahead--not Mamie. He well knew her protest of fear. ‘Come in, kid--easy, old-timer!’ from his lips, as he moved forward very slowly, his fingers closing at last upon the broken bridle-rein of the sorrel. The big runner was standing almost rigidly in the dark, as Elbert made a quick tie of the two shortened leather ends, his ears still straining for a sound from the mare. He mounted, but had difficulty in turning back toward the alders. The gelding fought the bit, tossing his head. The man’s unspurred heel knocked his ribs, but the runner snorted like a crazed colt at this, standing straight up, and Bart’s warning about the spur flashed back. Elbert, getting control again, snatched off a small branch as he brushed the foliage at the road-side, and the sorrel started forward at a stiff-legged, unwilling trot, still unruly as he neared the alders. The mare was gone. Holding to the shortened bridle-rein, Elbert was on his knees, lighting matches--an ashen smile on his lips. Yes, he actually smiled at himself now--so miserably hopeless a few minutes before, just at the thought of waiting days. Something to be dismal about now. Countless horse-tracks among the alders, conveying nothing to his eyes. Passing rurales had possibly heard the horses, and tried to take them. Possibly one of the police had mounted the sorrel and attempted to force him with a spur. That might account for old Mallet-head breaking loose. Elbert rode slowly on toward Fonseca, head bowed. Yes, they had given him something to be dismal about all right. What hope--if they had taken her into town.