Pete had planned that his first night should be spent in the open, with
no other companions than the friendly stars. As for Blue Smoke, well,
a horse is the best kind of a pal for a man who wishes to be alone, a
pal who takes care of himself, never complains of weariness, and eats
what he finds to eat with soulful satisfaction.
Pete made his first night's camp as he had planned, hobbled Blue Smoke,
and, having eaten, he lay resting, his head on his saddle and his gaze
fixed upon the far glory of the descending sun. The sweet, acrid
fragrance of cedar smoke, the feel of the wind upon his face, the
contented munching of his pony, the white radiance of the stars that
came quickly, and that indescribable sense of being at one with the
silences, awakened memories of many an outland camp-fire, when as a boy
he had journeyed with the horse-trader, or when Pop Annersley and he
had hunted deer in the Blue Range. And it seemed to Pete that that had
been but yesterday--"with a pretty onnery kind of a dream in between,"
he told himself.
As the last faint light faded from the west and the stars grew big,
Pete thanked those same friendly stars that there would be a
To-morrow--with sunlight, silence, and a lone trail to ride.
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