They were alone on the breezy open; it
was not yet full dawn; great masses of crimson vapor were floating
upward from the hills behind San Diego. The light was still
burning in the light-house on the promontory walling the inner
harbor, but in a few moments more it would be day. "No, Majella,
not here." he said. "We must not stay. As soon as the sun rises, a
man or a horse may be seen on this upper coast-line as far as eye
can reach. We must be among the trees with all the speed we can
make."
It was like a house with a high, thick roof of oak tree-tops, the
shelter they found. No sun penetrated it; a tiny trickle of water still
remained, and some grass along its rims was still green, spite of
the long drought,-- a scanty meal for Baba and Benito, but they ate
it with relish in each other's company.
"They like each other, those two," said Ramona, laughing, as she
watched them. "They will be friends."
"Ay," said Alessandro, also smiling. "Horses are friends, like men,
and can hate each other, like men, too. Benito would never see
Antonio's mare, the little yellow one, that he did not let fly his
heels at her; and she was as afraid, at sight of him, as a cat is at a
dog.
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