Midnight
The Midnight horse reached along in a brisk , swinging walk , an optimistic walk , good for four miles an hour . He had held that gait since three o'clock in the morning , with an hour off for water and breakfast at Smith 's Wells , the first stage station out from Cobre ; it was now hot noon by a conscientious sun -- thirty-six miles . But Midnight did not care . For hours their way had been through a trackless plain of uncropped salt grass , or grama , on the rising slopes : now they were in a country of worn and freshly traveled trails : wise Midnight knew there would be water and nooning soon . Already they had seen little bands of horses peering down at them from the high knolls on their right . Midnight wondered if they were to find sweet water or alkali . Sweet , likely , since it was in the hills ; Midnight was sure he hoped so .