He began to feel slightly uneasy about the girl, and to regret wasting
any time over her horse, and to fear that he might not be able to get
close enough to rope the beast, even if he did see him.
He turned back then and walked swiftly through the dusk toward the
ridge, beyond which she and Rambler were waiting. But it was a long
way--much farther than he had realized until he came to retrace his
steps--and the wind blew up a thin rift of clouds which made the
darkness come quickly. He found it difficult to tell exactly at which
point he had crossed the ridge, coming over; and although experience in
the open develops in a man a certain animal instinct for directions
handed down by our primitive ancestry, Ford went wide in his anxiety to
take the shortest way back to his unwilling protegee. The westering
slope was lighter, however, and five minutes of wandering along the
ridge showed him a dim bulk which he knew was Rambler. He hurried to the
place, and the horse whinnied shrilly as he approached.
"I looked as long as I could see, almost, but I couldn't locate your
horse," Ford remarked to the dark shadow of the rose bushes.
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