Under the crumbling walls, over slopes of weathered stone and droppings of shelving rock, round protruding noses of cliff, over and under pinyons Satan thundered.

He came out on the top of the ridge, at the narrow back I had called a saddle.

Here I caught a glimpse of Sounder far below, going down into the ravine from which I had ascended some time before.

I called to him, but I might as well have called to the wind.
Weary to the point of exhaustion, I once more turned Satan toward camp.
I lay forward on his neck and let him have his will.

Far down the ravine I awoke to strange sounds, and soon recognized the cracking of iron-shod hoofs against stone; then voices.