A CAVE DWELLER JACK WOULD BE Smoke-tinged sunlight and warm winds and languorous days held for another full month in the mountains.

Then the pines complained all through one night, and in the morning they roared like the rush of breakers in a storm, and sent dead branches crashing down, and sifted brown needles thick upon the earth below.
"A-ah, but she's goin' t' give us the rain now, I dunno," Murphy predicted, staring up at the leaden clouds through his thick glasses.
"Ye better git up some firewood, Mike, and make the camp snug agin foul weather.

An' av' the both of ye ain't got yer place tight an' ready fer a sthorm, ye betther be stirrin' yerselves an' let the diggin' go fer a day.

It's firewood ye'll need, an' in a dry place.
An' while ye're talkin' 'bout wood, have yer got yer wood fer the winter?
An' yer goin' to sthay, ye bin tellin' me." Fred looked around him at the forest where the oaks and the cottonwoods and all the trailing vines were fluttering gay red and yellow leaves in the wind.

Fall was slipping on him unaware.