Then he mounted himself; and with
the head of his lost comrade borne up upon his arm, and rested gently on
his breast, he rode westward over the great plain to where his mission
lay.
The horse paced slowly beneath the double load of dead and living; he
would not urge the creature faster on; every movement that shook
the drooping limbs, or jarred the repose of that last sleep, seemed
desecration. He passed the place where his own horse was stretched; the
vultures were already there. He shuddered; and then pressed faster on,
as though the beasts and birds of prey would rob him of his burden ere
he could give it sanctuary. And so he rode, mile after mile, over the
barren land, with no companion save the dead.
The winds blew fiercely in his teeth; the sand was in his eyes and hair;
the way was long, and weary, and sown thick with danger; but he knew of
nothing, felt and saw nothing save that one familiar face so strangely
changed and transfigured by that glory with which death had touched it.
CHAPTER XXXI.
"JE VOUS ACHETE VOTRE VIE."
Thus burdened, he made his way for over two leagues. The hurricane never
abated, and the blinding dust rose around him in great waves. The horse
fell lame; he had to dismount, and move slowly and painfully over the
loose, heavy soil on foot, raising the drooping head of the lifeless
rider. It was bitter, weary, cruel travail, of an intolerable labor, of
an intolerable pain.
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