ifting his head in a kind of disgust, he
ceased to graze altogether. As he did so, the men made ready to resume
the journey, replacing bridles and saddles and saddle-bags. Pat found
himself hopeful again, believing that with the end of this prolonged
service, which in view of the distance already traversed must be soon,
he would have those things for which his body and soul cried out. And
thus he set forth, occupying his former place in the order of advance,
moving, as before, at a fox-trot and amid silence from the men. He was
still hopeful of better things to come. But it was all a drear
experience.

The grind began to tell upon him. As he trotted along, thirst-stricken,
miserably nourished, weary from loss of sleep and this ceaseless toil,
he sought frankly for cause to rebel, as he had done in the first hour
of this strange call to new duty. And he found it. He found it not only
in the man's weight, and the infrequent contact of spurs, and the tight
grip on the reins, all as on that first occasion, but he found it as
well in other things--in the dust thrown up by the little gray ahead, in
the sun's rays slanting into his eyes from the west, in the scorching,
blistering heat of this same ruthless orb beating down upon his back.
Suddenly, cost him what it would, he dropped out of the fox-trot into a
walk, prepared to fight for this change of stride to the last breath.

He did not hold to it, however, even though his master, curiously
enough, permitted him the change. Pride asserted itself, and after a
time, of his own volition, finding the gap between himself and the
others much too wide to please him, he broke into a canter and quickly
closed the gap, crowding back into his place between the other two
horses. That was all of rebellion, though the mood still remained.
Bitter, disappointed, nervous, and irritable, he continued forward,
wanting things--wanting food and water, wanting sounds of voices,
wanting a respite from this unnerving grind. But he made no effort to
get them or to show that he wanted them. And he knew why he maintained
this attitude of meek acceptance. He was too weak to enforce his
demands. He knew that it required energy to buck and pitch, and he knew
that he lacked this energy. So he continued along in sullen resignation
until, accepting the hint of his instincts, he closed his eyes. This
brought relief, and after a time, his movements becoming ever more
mechanical, he found himself adrift upon