one respected this man, but after a time there grew a suspicion of
unknown strength in this lone rider, strength like that of a machine
which is stopped but only needs a spark of fire to plunge it into
irresistible action. Strangely enough, the youthful figure seemed in
tune with that region of mighty distances, with that white, cruel sun,
with that bird of prey hovering high, high in the air.

It required some study to guess at these qualities of the rider, for
they were such things as a child feels more readily than a grown man;
but it needed no expert to admire the horse he bestrode. It was a
statue in black marble, a steed fit for a Shah of Persia! The stallion
stood barely fifteen hands, but to see him was to forget his size. His
flanks shimmered like satin in the sun. What promise of power in the
smooth, broad hips! Only an Arab poet could run his hand over that
shoulder and then speak properly of the matchless curve. Only an Arab
could appreciate legs like thin and carefully drawn steel below the
knees; or that flow of tail and windy mane; that generous breast with
promise of the mighty heart within; that arched neck; that proud head
with the pricking ears, wide forehead, and muzzle, as the Sheik said,
which might drink from a pint-pot.

A rustling like dried leaves came from among the rocks and the hair
rose bristling around the neck of the wolflike dog. With outstretched
head he approached the rocks, sniffing, then stopped and turned
shining eyes upon his master, who nodded and swung from the saddle. It
was a little uncanny, this silent interchange of glances between the
beast and the man. The cause of the dog's anxiety was a long rattler
which now slid out from beneath a boulder, and giving its harsh
warning, coiled, ready to strike. The dog backed away, but instead of
growling he looked to the man.