Drag' Harlan

The black horse had come far. The glossy coat of him was thickly sprinkled with alkali dust, sifted upon him by the wind of his passage through the desert; his black muzzle was gray with it; ropes of it matted his mane, his forelock had become a gray-tinged wisp which he fretfully tossed ; the dust had rimmed his eyes, causing them to loom large and wild; and as his rider pulled him to a halt on the western side of the sand dune — where both horse and rider would not be visible on the sky line — he drew a deep breath, shook his head vigorously, and blew a thin stream of dust from his nostrils.