Only the Galiuros knew that a pinto pony had trodden unbroken trails
through the night, until it reached a spot where the tangled growth of
brush thinned and ended on a high ledge overlooking the undulating flat
of the Sulphur Springs range.
The mysterious beauty of coming dawn merged with dying starlight, where
faint shadows outlined the rugged peaks of the Grahams across the broad
Valley. Above them all Mt. Graham lifted its glorious, snow-capped head.
Unconquered, unscathed by the storms of centuries past, it gazed
steadfastly at the sky above it, while the world slept at its feet.
Limber sat on the back of the pinto pony. His grey eyes shone with a
wonderful light, for the strength of his loved mountains had crept into
his heart during the long hours of his silent battle. Out of the storm
and turmoil, the trail had led to peace.
A faint rustling sounded sibilantly. It was a vagrant, gossiping breeze
telling the leaves and grasses that a new day had been born.
Yesterday, with its joys and sorrows, its ambitions and disappointments,
was dead. Its ghost floated into the clear blue sky that smiled down
between the drifting clouds.
Today came laughing over the mountains. Her gold-shod feet twinkled as
she ran. The sunbeam in her hand gleamed like a magic wand, transmuting
each thing to dazzling beauty. It reached a little pinto pony standing
on an overhanging ledge. Like the flash of a golden lance, the sunbeam
rested on the shoulder of the man, who craved no greater privilege than
to give all, and ask nothing in return.
His head was bare. The sunlight touched his upturned face and the tender
smile on his lips.
"God bless her, and make her happy," he whispered softly.
* * * * *
{Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations left as printed.]