“No, Ma’am. This trail goes a roundabout way, and we can cut off nigh ten miles by striking right ’cross country. If there was high water we couldn’t do it, but the streams are nigh dry.”
“It looks so dark,” said Tavia. “How can you ever find the way?”
Then he showed them the North Star and other planets and combinations of stars by which the plainsman casts his course at night, as the sailor does at sea.
They came to several water-courses, unbridged; the ponies splashed through the shallow water, and then broke into their easy gallop again.
Dawn came, tripping over the prairie behind them, soon catching and passing the three riders, and rushing on to lighten the deep shadows of the mountains far, far in advance. All night these mountains had masked the western horizon like a threatening cloud.
Dorothy had dreamed of sunrise on the prairie; but she had not supposed it half so wonderful as it was!
The hem of Dawn’s garment was tinged with opal light, which quickly changed to faint pink—then deep rose—then an angry saffron which spread like a prairie fire all along the eastern horizon.
She could not help looking back at it to the detriment of her riding. But her pony was surefooted, and she came to no harm.
The glow increased. They were bathed in the light, and quickly the first level rays of the sun chased their own elongated shadows over the ground. There sprang into view ahead, as they cantered over a small rise, several sharply sparkling objects.
“What are they?” cried Tavia.