On the morrow he rode out of the red cliff gate with Dave and the pack-horses, a dull ache in his heart; for amid the cheering crowd of children and women who bade them good-bye he had caught the wave of Mescal’s hand and a look of her eyes that would be with him always.  What might happen before he returned, if he ever did return!  For he knew now, as well as he could feel Silvermane’s easy stride, that out there under the white glare of desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina, was wild life awaiting him.  And he shut his teeth, and narrowed his eyes, and faced it with an eager joy that was in strange contrast to the pang in his breast.

That morning the wind dipped down off the Vermillion Cliffs and whipped west; there was no scent of river-water, and Hare thought of the fatality of the sheep-drive, when, for one day out of the year, a moistened dank breeze had met the flock on the narrow bench.  Soon the bench lay far behind them, and the strip of treacherous sand, and the maze of sculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky low ridges beyond, with their dry white washes.  Silvermane kept on in front.  Already Hare had learned that the gray would have no horse before him.  His pace was swift, steady, tireless.  Dave was astride his Navajo mount, an Indian-bred horse, half mustang, which had to be held in with a firm rein.  The pack train strung out far behind, trotting faithfully along, with the white packs, like the humps of camels, nodding up and down.  Jack and Dave slackened their gait at the foot of the stony divide.  It was an ascent of miles, so long that it did not appear steep.  Here the pack-train caught up, and thereafter hung at the heels of the riders.

From the broad bare summit Jack saw the Silver Cup valley — range with eyes which seemed to magnify the winding trail, the long red wall, the green slopes, the dots of sage and cattle.  Then he made allowance for months of unobstructed vision; he had learned to see; his eyes had adjusted themselves to distance and dimensions.

Silver Cup Spring lay in a bright green spot close under a break in the rocky slope that soon lost its gray cliff in the shaggy cedared side of Coconina.

The camp of the brothers was situated upon this cliff in a split between two sections of wall.  Well sheltered from the north and west winds was a grassy plot which afforded a good survey of the valley and the trails.  Dave and Jack received glad greetings from Zeke and George, and Silvermane was an object of wonder and admiration.  Zeke, who had often seen the gray and chased him too, walked round and round him, stroking the silver mane, feeling the great chest muscles, slapping his flanks.

“Well, well, Silvermane, to think I’d live to see you wearing a saddle and bridle!  He’s even bigger than I thought.  There’s a horse, Hare!  Never will be another like him in this desert.  If Dene ever sees that horse he’ll chase him to the Great Salt Basin.  Dene’s crazy about fast horses.  He’s from Kentucky, somebody said, and knows a horse when he sees one.”