"No? Let me show you," he said desperately.
[Chapter Ten]
Flight From Snake Thickets
This time of night did strange things to the brush. The moon had not yet risen enough to light fully the trails winding their secretive way through the jealous chaparral, and what vague dim light did seep through the gloom held a reflected, synthetic quality. Most of the vaqueros were in a drunken stupor when Crawford and the woman left the house, getting one of Rockland's prized copperbottoms and a pinto mare from the corrals without being detected. They rode north from the spread, following one of the ancient game traces which the vaqueros used when working the cattle. In the eerie illumination, the berries ripening on the granjeno bushes formed yellow shadow patches against the velvet backdrop of darkness farther back, and the white filament of the horse-maimer was turned to a sick erubescence where it crouched on a stony ridge. Crawford caught the dim glow of the cactus's silky blossoms, and pulled his reins in a hard jerk against the pinto's neck. The animal shied to the right, away from the horse-maimer.
"Crawford!"
The woman said it softly from behind him, a controlled anger in her voice. She moved the copperbottom up beside him, peering at his face.
"It's all right," he said impatiently.
"Crawford," she said again, in that low, insistent tone.
He tried to relax his legs against the pinto. Just a walk, and they were like that. He felt his shirt sticking to his armpits and knew the sweat was showing on his face. That terrible frustration was biting at him.