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And all day long, one by one, more men came forth, like ghosts, from the dead-land. But the twilight had come and the wind had died away before teamster Slivers limped from the desert. He came afoot. He had ridden his horse to death, in his desperate quest. He could barely see and his hair was white, even below the coating of the dust. Moody ran to meet him. "Barney?
For one brief second the swirling clouds were reft, revealing, far out eastward, in the dead-land of white, a small dark object the form of a man. One poignant sob was the only sound that Sally made, as she ran toward the stable. "Good Lord! it's him!" said Adams. "Was he heading back this way?" "I think he was," answered Catherwood. "He couldn't do anything else," stammered Slivers.
The Injun camp is over across the desert, in Thimbleberry Cove.... Do you reckon you've got the nerve to pack him across?" A peculiar silence followed this announcement. Barney stood like an animal at bay. His face became deathly white. He fully comprehended the awfulness of that great white dead-land just outside. Wooster broke the silence.
A portentous cloud ahead growled its thunder and discharged thin rain, while the westing sun shone clear and bright. The slain never associate with the commonalty; they walk about rubbed with white clay and clad in white; nor are they afraid of, whereas the others fly from, and are unwilling to be seen by, the living. 'It is said in the Dead-land below the earth there are kings as well as slaves.
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