dreamy panorama in the moonshine. One feature was clear, and that was a
broad looping of silver among the hills, a river with slender
tributaries dodging swiftly down to it from either side. Alcatraz looked
with a swelling heart, thinking of the white-hot deserts which he had
known all his life. The wind which lifted his mane and cooled his hot
body carried up, also, the delicious fragrance of the evergreens and it
seemed to Alcatraz that he had come in view of a promised land. Surely
he had dreamed of it on many a day in burning, dusty corrals or in
oven-like sheds.

The descent was far less precipitous than the climb and far shorter to
the plateau. Just where the true mountains broke out into a pleasant
medley of foothills, the stallion stopped to rest. He nibbled a few
mouthfuls of grass growing lush and rank on the edge of a watercourse,
waded to the knees in a still pool and blotted out the star-images with
the disturbance of his drinking, and then went back onto a hilltop to
sleep.

It was full day before he rose and started on again, and to keep his
strength for the next stage of the journey, he ate busily first on the
lee side of a hill where the grass was thickest and tenderest. Between
mouthfuls he raised his head to gaze down on his new-found land. It was
a day of clouds, thin sheetings and dense cumulus masses sweeping on the
west wind and breaking against the mountains. Alcatraz could not see the
crests over which he had climbed the night before, so thick were those
breaking ranks of clouds, but the plateau beneath him was dotted with
yellow sunshine and in the day it filled to the full the promise of the
moonlit night. He saw wide stretches of meadow; he saw hills sharpsided
and smoothly rolling--places to climb with labor and places to gallop at
ease. He saw streams that promised drink at will; he saw clumps and