As the first tint of dawn displayed itself on the horizon, he rose gently to his feet; clutched the blanket so as to bring its edges in contact across his breast; and, turning his back upon Casa del Corvo, walked slowly away—taking the same track by which he had approached it on the preceding night.
And again with unequal steps: at short intervals stopping and looking back—under his arm, or over his shoulder.
Nowhere did he make a prolonged pause; until reaching the locust-tree, under whose shade he had made his evening meal; and there, in the same identical attitude, he proceeded to break his fast.
The second half of the “pone” and the remaining moiety of the pork, soon disappeared between his teeth; after which followed the liquor that had been left in his flask.
He had refilled his pipe, and was about relighting it, when an object came before his eyes, that caused him hastily to return his flint and steel to the pouch from which he had taken them.
Through the blue mist of the morning the entrance of Casa del Corvo showed a darker disc. The door had been drawn open.
Almost at the same instant a horseman was seen to sally forth, mounted upon a small grey horse; and the door was at once closed behind him.
Zeb Stump made no note of this. He only looked to see what direction the early traveller would take.
Less than a score of seconds sufficed to satisfy him. The horse’s head and the face of the rider were turned towards himself.
He lost no time in trying to identify either. He did not doubt of its being the same man and horse, that had passed that spot on the evening before; and he was equally confident they were going to pass it again.