"
There is a superstition about prophesying too boastfully that a certain thing
will or will not happen; you will remember that there is also a provision that
the rash prophet may avert disaster by knocking wood. Applehead should, if
there is any grain of sense in the rite, have knocked wood with his fingers
crossed as an extra precaution, against evil fortune.
For after they had eaten and methodically packed away the food, and while they
were lying around the cheerful glow of their little campfire, misfortune stole
up out of the darkness unaware. They talked desultorily as tired men will,
their alertness dulled by the contented tinkle-tinkle of the little bell
strapped around the neck of big, bay Johnny, Applehead's companion of many a
desert wandering. That brilliant constellation which seems to hang just over
one's head in the high altitude of our sagebrush states, held hypnotically the
sleepy gaze of Pink, whose duty it was to go on guard when the others turned
in for the night. He lay with his locked fingers under his head, staring up at
one particularly bright group of stars, and listened to the droning voice of
Applehead telling of a trip he had made out into this country five or six
years before; and soaking in the peace and the comfort which was all the more
precious because he knew that soon he must drag his weary body into the saddle
and ride out to stand guard over the horses.
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