Spots of mud were everywhere on his boots, even on his sombrero with its
sagging brim, and on one side of his face there was a darker stain. He
had ceased his whistling, indeed, but now he stood at the door and
hummed as he gazed about the room. Straight to Kate Cumberland he
walked, took her hands, and raised her from the chair.
He said, and there was a fibre and ring in his voice that made them
catch their breaths: "There's something outside that I'm following
to-night. I don't know what it is. It is the taste of the wind and the
feel of the air and the smell of the ground. And I've got to be ridin'.
I'm saying good-bye for a bit, Kate."
"Dan," she cried, "what's happened? What's on your face?"
"The mark of the night," he answered. "I don't know what else. Will you
come with me, Kate?"
"For how long? Where are you going, Dan!"
"I don't know where or how long. All I know is I've got to be going.
Come to the window. Take the air on your face. You'll understand!"
He drew her after him and cast up the window.
"Do you feel it in the wind" he called to her, turning with a
transfigured face. "Do you hear it?"
She could not speak but stood with her face lifted, trembling.
"Look at me!" he commanded, and turned her roughly towards him. There he
stood leaning close to her, and the yellow light flickered and waned
and burned again in his eyes.
He had held her hands while he stared.
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