Again he knew that
wild exultant beat of blood no woman before this one had ever stirred in
him.
Harley was the first to give up. He lurched forward and slipped from the
saddle to the snow, and could not be cursed into rising. The man behind
dismounted, put down his burden, and dragged the old man to his feet.
"Here! This won't do. You've got to stick it out."
"I can't. I've reached my limit." Then testily: "'Are not my days few?
Cease then, and let me alone,'" he added wearily, with his everready tag
of Scripture.
The instant the other's hold on him relaxed the old man sank back. Ridgway
dragged him up and cuffed him like a troublesome child. He knew this was
no time for reasoning.
"Are you going to lie down and quit, you old loafer? I tell you the ranch
is only a mile or two. Here, get into the saddle."
By sheer strength the younger man hoisted him into the seat. He was very
tired himself, but the vital sap of youth in him still ran strong in his
blood. For a few yards farther they pushed on before Harley slid down
again and his horse stopped.
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