"With all my heart, Pierre. See--I'm not afraid. It is like going to
sleep. What wonderful dreams we'll have!"

And then the black mass of the landslide swept upon them.




CHAPTER 9


Down all the length of the mountain-desert and across its width of
rocks and mountains and valleys and stern plateaus there is a saying:
"You can tell a man by the horse he rides." For most other important
things are apt to go by opposites, which is the usual way in which a
man selects his wife. With dogs, for instance--a quiet man is apt to
want an active dog, and a tractable fellow may keep the most vicious
of wolf-dogs.

But when it comes to a horse, a man's heart speaks for itself, and if
he has sufficient knowledge he will choose a sympathetic mount. A
woman loves a neat-stepping saddle-horse; a philosopher likes a
nodding, stumble-footed nag which will jog all day long and care not a
whit whether it goes up dale or down.

To know the six wild riders who galloped over the white reaches of the
mountain-desert this night, certainly their horses should be studied
first and the men secondly, for the one explained the other.

They came in a racing triangle. Even the storm at its height could not