“I know it, Garry. But there’s lots you can’t do. You’re tired, Garry?”
“No, Kob, I ain’t tired.”
Kob glanced at the great fur-clad limbs, tireless as machinery; at the great shoulders bent to the yoke. A certain uneasiness stirred in him.
“You’re going mighty slow, Garry——”
Suddenly, with a great, slow sigh, Garry stopped. He stood, arms folded on the yoke, head turned to the south, still as a rock.
“Kob!”
“What’s gettin’ you, Garry?”
“Kob, there should be a hill to the west, not a mile away—a hill breaking out o’ the level like a cliff. Look and tell me if it’s there.”
As his voice ceased, the terrible silence closed in on them like iron, so that all the senses ached to its grip.
“Garry!”