“Elder Sizzum ought to look sharper.”
“He’s a prime leader. But he tuk dance, argee, and faro last night with a perfect looseness. I dunno what’s come over Sizzum; bein’ a great apossle’s maybe too much for him. But then he knows ther ain’t no Utes round here, to stampede his animals or run off any of his gals. Both er you men could have got you a wife apiece last night, and ben twenty miles on the way, and nobody the wiser. Now, boys, be alive with them mules. I want to be off.”
“Where are Smith and Robinson?” I asked, missing the two gamblers as we started.
“Let ’em slide, cuss ’em!” said Jake. “’Taint my business to call ’em up, and fetch ’em hot water, and black their boots. They moved camp away from us, over into the brush by you. Reckon they was afeard some on us would be goin’ halves with ’em in the pile they raked last night. Let ’em slide, the durn ripperbits! Every man for hisself, I say. They snaked me to the figure of a slug at their cheatin’ game; an’ now they may sleep till they dry and turn to grasshopper pie, for me.”
Jake cracked his long whip. The mules sprang forward together. We started.
I gave one more look at the caravan we had seen winding so beautifully down on the plain, no longer ago than yesterday evening. Rosy morning brightened on every wagon of the great ellipse. Not a soul was to be seen of all their tenants. I recognized Mr. Clitheroe’s habitation at the farther end. That, too, had the same mysterious, deserted air, as if the sad pair who dwelt in it had desperately wandered away into the desert by night.
Brent would not turn. He kept his haggard face bent eastward, toward the horizon, where an angry sunrise began to thrust out the quiet hues of dawn.
I followed the train, doggedly refusing to think more of those desolate friends we were leaving. Their helpless fate made all the beauty of the scene only crueller bitterness. What right had dawn to tinge with sweetest violet and with hopeful rose the shelters of that camp of delusion and folly!
We rode steadily on through the cool haze, and then through the warm, sunny haze, of that October morning. Brent hardly uttered a word. He left me the whole task of driving our horses. A difficult task this morning. Their rest and feast of yesterday had put Pumps and Fulano in high spirits. I had my hands full to keep them in the track.
We had ridden some eighteen miles, when Brent fell back out of the dust of our march, and beckoned me.