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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"The Strange Case of Cavendish"

"A
cat couldn't find anything there; but there's firm sand. Wait a
minute; I've got a pocket compass."
He struck a match, sheltering the sputtering blaze with one hand. The
light illuminated his face for an instant, and then went out, leaving
the night blacker than before.
"That's south," he announced, snapping the compass-case shut, "and this
blame wind is southeast; that ought to keep us fairly straight."
"The ponies will do that; they'll keep where the travelling is good.
Shift this bag back of your saddle, Dan. You ride lighter, and my
horse is beginning to pant already; that will ease him a few pounds."
The transfer was made, and the two men rode out into the rear desert,
urging their animals forward, trusting largely to their natural
instinct for guidance. They would follow the hard sand, and before
long the scent of water would as certainly lead them directly toward
the spring. With reins dangling and bodies crouched to escape the
blast of the sharp wind, neither spoke as they plunged through the
gloom which circled about them like a black wall.


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