No warmth--no movement--no life! Dead stone it was, cut into a million ruts by ruthless ages.

Carley felt that she was gazing down into chaos.
At this moment, as before, a hawk had crossed her vision, so now a raven sailed by, black as coal, uttering a hoarse croak.
"Quoth the raven--" murmured Carley, with a half-bitter laugh, as she turned away shuddering in spite of an effort of self-control.

"Maybe he meant this wonderful and terrible West is never for such as I....

Come, let us go." Carley rode all that afternoon in the rear of the caravan, gradually succumbing to the cold raw wind and the aches and pains to which she had subjected her flesh.

Nevertheless, she finished the day's journey, and, sorely as she needed Glenn's kindly hand, she got off her horse without aid.
Camp was made at the edge of the devastated timber zone that Carley had found so dispiriting.