They had gone down into the Pass.
Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.
"Bern--look!" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.
A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky.
That dot was a band of riders.
"Pull the black, Bess." They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot.

The fresh and eager horses did not like the check.
"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight." "I wonder if they're Tull's riders.

They might be rustlers.

But it's all the same to us." The black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds.

It grew all the time, though very slowly.