dropped at the feet of the man? So Alcatraz kept on running. Besides, he
rejoiced in the gallop. He was like a boy who leaves his strength
untested for several years and when the crisis comes finds himself a
man. So the red-chestnut marvelled at the new wells of strength which he
was draining as he ran. That power which the Mexican had kept at low
tide with his systematic brutality was now developed to the full, very
near; and to Alcatraz it seemed exhaustless. He did not stop to look
about until two miles of climbing up the steep sides of the Eagles had
winded him.

He had risen above the foothills and the more laborious slopes of the
Eagles lifted at angles sheer and more sheer towards the top. But
decidedly he must cross the mountains. On the other side perhaps, there
would be no men. There could be no better time. Already the hollow
gorges were beginning to brim with blue-grey shadows and he would be
taking the worst of the climb in the cool of the evening. So Alcatraz
gave himself to the climb.

It was bitter work. Had he dropped a few miles south across the
foothills he would have found the road to the Jordan ranch climbing up
the Eagles with leisurely swinging curves, but the slopes just above him
were heart-breaking, and Alcatraz began to realize in an hour that a
mountainside from a distance is a far gentler thing than the same slope
underfoot. It was the heart of twilight before he came to the middle of
his climb and stepped onto a nearly level shoulder some acres in
compass. Here he stood for a moment while the muscles, cramped from
climbing, loosened again, and he looked down at the work he had already
accomplished. It was a dizzy fall to the lowlands. The big foothills
were mere dimples on the earth and limitless plain moved east towards
darkness. The stallion breathed deep of the pure mountain air,