Just before the moon rose above the hills he rolled himself up in a blanket and stretched himself out on the ground. And when the satellite climbed high enough to flood the earth with its silvery light, its rays fell on the form of a peacefully sleeping lad.
Many hours later, as Tom Clifton once again looked upon the world, he discovered it to be a dimly lit and cheerless-looking place. A few wisps of clouds near the eastern horizon were not even tinged with the faintest color. Over the valley, over everything within the range of vision, a succession of long, thick streamers of whitish mist hung low. The early morning air was raw and chill.
Tossing aside his blanket, the lad rubbed his eyes and rose sleepily to his feet.
“Humph!” he muttered, after a long, earnest stare. “Not a very joyous sight, to be sure; one good thing, though, it’s jolly early.”
His first thoughts were for the mustang. The animal was contentedly lying down, but at his approach scrambled to his feet in a manner that indicated a great improvement in the condition of his injured leg.
“Fine and dandy, old chap,” declared Tom, grinning with satisfaction. “Let’s have a look.”
An examination increased his grin.
“Bully!” was his comment. “Nothing now to prevent us from making a quick get-away. A cold bite and then it’s the long ride for us.”
In the space of about twenty-five minutes his wants and those of the mustang had been satisfied. After this, the lad repacked the saddle-bags, filled the canvas water-bottles with cool water from the creek, and lastly saddled his pony.
“Now, little chap,” he exclaimed, springing into the saddle, “let ’er go!”