All that a horse could
will was here, beyond imaginings. Alcatraz lifted his beautiful head and
neighed across the lowlands.
There was no answer. His kingdom silently awaited his coming so he
struck out at a sharp pace. The run of the day before, in place of
stiffening him, had put him in racing trim and he went like the wind. He
was in playful mood. He danced and shied as each cloud-shadow struck
him, a dim figure in the shade but shining red-chestnut in the sun
patches. On every hand he saw dozens of places where he would have
stopped willingly had not more distant beauties lured him on. There were
hills whose tops would serve him as watch towers in time of need. There
were meadows of soft soil where the grass grew long and rank and others
where it was a sweeter and finer growth; but both had their places in
his diet and must be remembered so Alcatraz tried to file them away in
his mind. But who could remember single jewels in a great treasure? He
was like a child chasing butterflies and continually lured from the
pursuit of one to that of another still brighter. So he came in his
kingly progress to the first blot on the landscape, the first bar, the
first hindrance.
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