The same thing happened at nine other ranches from five to ten miles apart, where dwelt other fierce, silent men all under the authority of Buck Johnson.
And when night fell, and the topaz and violet and saffron and amethyst and mauve and lilac had faded suddenly from the Chiricahuas, like a veil that has been rent, and the ramparts had become slate-grey and then black--the soft-breathed night wandered here and there over the desert, and the land fell under an enchantment even stranger than the day's.
So the days went by, wonderful, fashioning the ways and the characters of men.

Seven passed.

Buck Johnson and his foreman began to look for the stranger.

Eight, they began to speculate.

Nine, they doubted.