He lay now near the edge of the cliff, whence he could look toward the west, the point of hope, whenever he wished, ate another strip of venison, and took another drink of water out of a friendly canteen.
The west was now blazing with terraces of red and yellow, rising above one another, and the east was misty, gray and dim.

Twilight was not far away.

The thread of smoke that had lain against the sky above the forest was gone, the glittering bar of red and gold being absolutely free from any trace.

St.Luc's force opened fire again, bullets clipping twigs and leaves, but the defense lay quiet, except Black Rifle, who crept back and forth, continually seeking a target, and pulling the trigger whenever he found it.
The misty gray in the east turned to darkness, in the west the sun went down the slope of the world, and the brilliant terraces of color began to fade.

The firing ceased and another tense period of quiet, hard, to endure, came.