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Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn, 1857-1948

"The Valiant Runaways"

The beautiful alluring city looked to be
floating in cloud; it smiled and beckoned, inciting even the weary
famished brutes to effort. But at the end of an hour Roldan reined in
with a puzzled expression. "I do not understand," he said. "It seemed
not two leagues away when we started, and we have come that far and
more, and still it seems exactly the same distance beyond."
"The atmosphere is so clear," suggested Adan. "But I wish we were there.
My mouth is parched, my tongue is dry--and the horses, Roldan. Soon they
will be as limp as sails in a calm."
"True, but we could easily walk the distance now. We could return for
them at once with water and food." But he was beginning to feel vaguely
uneasy once more. The odd sensation of death, of a buried world, had
returned. Could it be that that fair city beyond was heaven? Surely, he
thought with unconscious humour, it was very un-Californian.
They passed the lonely buttes, the parched beds of lakes, salt-coated.
Still they saw not a living thing; still the city seemed to recede with
the horizon, its sharp beautiful outlines unchanged. For some time the
horses had been trotting unevenly.


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