Another night ride would put them beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the hiding-places of the outlaws.
When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon you can pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh accompanying the words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while upholding Stevens in the saddle.
The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk.

They were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.
The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while; darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars brightened.

After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle.

Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away.

Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain.