After that, Luck gave every ounce of his energy and every bit of his brain to the outfitting of the expedition.
So well did he accomplish the task that by one O'clock that night a low-voiced company of men rode away from a livery stable in the heart of the town, leading four pack-horses and heading as straight as might be for the bridge.

They met no one; they saw scarcely a light in any of the windows that they passed.

A chill wind crept up the river so that they buttoned their coats when the hoofbeats of the horses sounded hollow on the bridge.

Out through the lane that leads to Atrisco, which slept in the stolid blackness of low adobe houses with flat roofs and tiny windows, they rode at a trot.

Dogs barked, ran but to the road and barked again, ran back to the adobe huts and kept on barking.