"
If Blount had not already lost all sense of familiarity with his
surroundings, the devious mountain trail taken by his captors would soon
have convinced him that the boyhood memories were no longer to be
trusted. Up and down, the trail zigzagged and climbed, always
penetrating deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountains. At times
Blount lost even the sense of direction; lost it so completely that the
high-riding moon seemed to be in the wrong quarter of the heavens.
For the first few miles the trail was so difficult that speed was out of
the question; but later, in crossing a high-lying valley, the horses
were pushed. Beyond the valley there were more mountains, and half-way
through this second range the trail plunged into a deep, cleft-like
canyon with a brawling torrent for its pathfinder. Once more Blount lost
the sense of direction, and when the canyon trail came out upon broad
uplands and became a country road with bordering ranches watered by
irrigation canals, into which the mountain torrent was diverted, there
were no recognizable landmarks to tell him whither his captors were
leading him.
As he was able to determine by holding his watch, face up, to the
moonlight, it was nearly midnight when the silent cavalcade of four
turned aside from the main road into an avenue of spreading cottonwood
trees.
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