THE DARKNESS IN ELDARA Even the stout roan grew weary during the third day, and when they topped the last rise of hills, and looked down to darker shadows in Eldara in the black heart of the hollow, the mustang stood with hanging head, and one ear flopped forward.

Cruel indeed had been the pace which Nash maintained, yet they had never been able to overhaul the flying piebald of Anthony Bard.
As they trotted down the slope, Nash looked to his equipment, handled his revolver, felt the strands of the lariat, and resting only his toes in the stirrups, eased all his muscles to make sure that they were uncramped from the long journey.

He was fit; there was no doubt of that.
Coming down the main street--for Eldara boasted no fewer than three thoroughfares--the first houses which Nash passed showed no lights.

As far as he could see, the blinds were all drawn; not even the glimmer of a candle showed, and the voices which he heard were muffled and low.
He thought of plague or some other disaster which might have overtaken the little village and wiped out nine tenths of the populace in a day.
Only such a thing could account for silence in Eldara.

There should have been bursts and roars of laughter here and there, and now and then a harsh stream of cursing.