He ran a
few steps, halted, and squealed again. Then, suddenly wheeling at right
angles, set off on a jog trot to the north, squealing and kicking from
time to time. McTeague ran after him shouting and swearing, but for a
long time the mule would not allow himself to be caught. He seemed more
bewildered than frightened.
"He's eatun some of that loco-weed that Cribbens spoke about," panted
McTeague. "Whoa, there; steady, you." At length the mule stopped of his
own accord, and seemed to come to his senses again. McTeague came up and
took the bridle rein, speaking to him and rubbing his nose.
"There, there, what's the matter with you?" The mule was docile again.
McTeague washed his mouth and set forward once more.
The day was magnificent. From horizon to horizon was one vast span of
blue, whitening as it dipped earthward. Miles upon miles to the east
and southeast the desert unrolled itself, white, naked, inhospitable,
palpitating and shimmering under the sun, unbroken by so much as a rock
or cactus stump. In the distance it assumed all manner of faint colors,
pink, purple, and pale orange. To the west rose the Panamint Range,
sparsely sprinkled with gray sagebrush; here the earths and sands were
yellow, ochre, and rich, deep red, the hollows and canyons picked out
with intense blue shadows.
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