On the last one she stopped and stood, straight and still, and stared away towards the mountains, shading her eyes with one spread palm.

On a distant slope a small herd of cattle fed, scattered and at peace.

Nearer, a great hawk circled slowly on widespread wings, his neck craned downward as if he were watching his own shadow move ghostlike over the grass.
Annie-Many-Ponies, turning her eyes disappointedly from the empty mesa, envied the hawk his swift-winged freedom.
When she looked again toward the far slopes next the mountains, a black speck rolled into view, the nucleus of a little dust cloud.

Her face brightened a little; she turned abruptly and sought easy footing down that ridge, and climbed hurriedly the longer rise beyond.

Once or twice, when she was on high ground, she glanced behind her uneasily, as does one whose mind holds a certain consciousness of wrongdoing.