It was such a light as he had never seen, except in dreams.

Pale moonlight and dimmed starlight and wan dawn all vague and strange and shadowy under the wild and vivid light of burning grass.
In the pale path before Slone, that fanlike slope of sand which opened down into the valley, appeared a swiftly moving black object, like a fleeting phantom.

It was a phantom horse.

Slone felt that his eyes, deceived by his mind, saw racing images.

Many a wild chase he had lived in dreams on some far desert.