Then he was wrenched
up through the mass, something struck him on the head with a sharp
blow, a shower of stars fell like a cataract, and the sickening scents
in his nostrils faded away.
When he again opened his eyes it was to behold real stars shining down
from a velvet sky, to hear the river lapping gently at the landing, and
the night birds calling in the forest. From the prairie beyond the
fringe of woods to the east there came the yapping of the coyotes, and
far to the north a wolf howled.
At first a sense of bewilderment held him. Then in a rush came back the
memory of what had happened. He listened intently. Back and forth, back
and forth somewhere near went a soft footstep, the swish and glide of a
moccasin. He strained his eyes, which smarted terribly, into the
darkness, and presently descried a tall form pacing slowly up against
the skyline of his vision and back again into the shadows. A single
feather slanted against the stars. A guard pacing the place of
captives.
With a slight movement McElroy tried to lift a hand.
It was immovable. He tried the other. It likewise refused his will.
So with both feet when he attempted, ever so cautiously, to move them.
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