Yermah, the Dorado, was refreshed and invigorated by his early morning ride. It had been a voluntary gallop, and it would have been hard to say which found the keenest enjoyment in it; he, his horse Cibolo, or Oghi the ocelot, which ran beside them in long, slow leaps, covering much ground yet always alighting noiselessly and as softly as a cat. It was a beautiful morning, one that would correspond to the first of June now—but this was in the long ago, when days and months were reckoned differently.…
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