They
were standing now on a mountain-top. The red of the sunset filled the
west and brought the sky close to them with the lower drifts of stained
clouds. Eastward the winding length of Bear Creek was turning pink and
purple. The Cornish ranch had never seemed so beautiful to Terry as it
was at this moment. It was a kingdom, and he was leaving, the
disinherited heir.
He turned west to the blare of the sunset. Blue Mountains tumbled away in
lessening ranges--beyond was Craterville, and he must go there today.
That was the world to him just then. And something new passed through
Terry. The world was below him; it lay at his feet with its hopes and its
battles. And he was strong for the test. He had been living in a dream.
Now he would live in fact. And it was glorious to live!
And when his arms fell, his right hand lodged instinctively on the butt
of his revolver. It was a prophetic gesture, but there, again, was
something that Terry Hollis did not understand.
He called to El Sangre softly. The stallion responded with the faintest
of whinnies to the vibrant power in the voice of the master; and at that
smooth, effortless pace, he glided down the hillside, weaving dexterously
among the jagged outcroppings of rock.
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