The horses, taking their own way, were wandering home. Any exercise of
control or guidance over them on my part was inspired by an instinct
to avoid being seen. Of conscious direction there was none. Somewhere
between the ferry and the ranch I remember being awakened from my torpor
by the horse which I was leading showing an inclination to graze. Then
I noticed their gaunted condition, and in sympathy for the poor brutes
unsaddled and picketed them in a secluded spot. What happened at this
halt has slipped from my memory. But I must have slept a long time; for
I awoke to find the moon high overhead, and my watch, through neglect,
run down and stopped. I now realized the better my predicament, and
reasoned with myself whether I should return to Las Palomas or not. But
there was no place else to go, and the horses did not belong to me. If I
could only reach the ranch and secure my own horse, I felt that no power
on earth could chain me to the scenes of my humiliation.
The horses decided me to return. Resaddling at an unknown hour, I rode
for the ranch. The animals were refreshed and made good time. As I rode
along I tried to convince myself that I could slip into the ranch,
secure my own saddle horse, and meet no one except the Mexicans.
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