The latter paid no further attention to them, but set about kindling a
small fire over which to cook supper. Calder joined him. The marshal's
mind was too full for speech, but now and again he turned a long
glance of wonder upon the stallion or Black Bart. In the same silence
they sat under the last light of the sunset and ate their supper.
Calder, with head bent, pondered over the man of mystery and his two
tamed animals. Tamed? Not one of the three was tamed, the man least of
all.
He saw Dan pause from his eating to stare with wide, vacant eyes among
the trees. The wolf-dog approached, looked up in his master's face,
whined softly, and getting no response went back to his place and lay
down, his eyes never moving from Dan. Still he stared among the trees.
The gloom deepened, and he smiled faintly. He began to whistle, a low,
melancholy strain so soft that it blended with the growing hush of the
night. Calder listened, wholly overawed. That weird music seemed an
interpretation of the vast spaces of the mountains, of the pitiless
desert, of the limitless silences, and the whistler was an
understanding part of the whole.
He became aware of a black shadow behind the musician.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137