I knew I could get rid of them any minute.
Most of the time, if I was in any doubt, it was easier to throw a
stone to see if the animals were real or not. The real ones ran
away.
We began to see bands of wild horses in the uplands. One day
both Denton and I plainly saw one with saddle marks on him. If
only one of us had seen him, it wouldn't have counted much, but
we both made him out. This encouraged us wonderfully, though I
don't see why it should have. We had topped the high country,
too, and had started down the other side of the mountains that
ran out on the promontory. Denton and I were still navigating
without any thought of giving up, but Schwartz was getting in bad
shape. I'd hate to pack twenty pounds over that country even
with rest, food, and water. He was toting it on nothing. We
told him so, and he came to see it, but he never could persuade
himself to get rid of the gold all at once. Instead he threw
away the pieces one by one. Each sacrifice seemed to nerve him
up for another heat. I can shut my eyes and see it now--the
wide, glaring, yellow country, the pasteboard mountains, we three
dragging along, and the fierce sunshine flashing from the
doubloons as one by one they went spinning through the air.
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