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Updated: May 15, 2025
There is a wood there, with herons sprawling about the tree-tops, I did not think there were so many in the world, and fish for Lent and Fridays in every puddle and leat, pike and perch, tench and eels, on every old-wife's table; while the knights think scorn of anything worse than smelts and burbot." "Splendeur Dex!" quoth William, who, Norman-like, did not dislike a good dinner.
The glasses discovered the lone horseman to be Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lunged on. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out into the noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then ride east toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they would trail Dex to the water-hole.
"The Normans bore it all, but in fact they knew not what the English said: their language seemed like the baying of dogs, which they could not understand. At length they stopped and turned round, determined to recover their ranks; and the barons might be heard crying 'Dex aie! for a halt.
These English set you the example of chivalry by letting your comrade fight his own battle fairly, instead of setting on him all together; and you repay them by hunting them down with darts, because you dare not go within sword's-stroke of better men than yourselves. Go. I am ashamed of you. No, stay. Where is your prisoner? For, Splendeur Dex!
If they had stood a moment, the struggles of the dying would have thrown them down; and still fresh victims pressed on from behind, shouting "Dex Aie! On to the gold of Ely!" And still the sow, under the weight, slipped further and further back into the stream, and the foul gulf widened between besiegers and besieged.
"The Normans bore it all; but, in fact, they knew not what the English said: their language seemed like the baying of dogs, which they could not understand. At length they stopped and turned round, determined to recover their ranks; and the barons might be heard crying, 'Dex Aie! for a halt.
In a few minutes the trail would become distinct. Dropping from the ledge, he stepped to his saddle. Dex evidently heard him, for he twitched back one ear, but maintained his attitude of keen interest in an invisible something a something that had drawn him from drowsy inanition to a quietly tense statue of alertness.
His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate in grotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dex strode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from the night. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon slid down, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on the sand.
"Speaking of whiskey, Dex I notice that you've been drinking pretty hard of late that is, hard for you." The old man shook his head. "You're mistaken. It ain't hard for me." "Well, hard or easy, you'd better cut it out."
In the corral he spread his blankets. With his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars. The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground was new to them. For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged as he rested.
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