Don barked his displeasure; Sounder made the welkin ring, and old Moze growled low and deep, grumbling like muttered thunder.

Then all was quiet, and I slept.
Dawn, rosy red, confronted me when I opened my eyes.

Breakfast was ready; Frank was packing Old Baldy; Jones talked to his horse as he saddled him; Wallace came stooping his giant figure under the pinyons; the dogs, eager and soft-eyed, sat around Jim and begged.

The sun peeped over the Pink Cliffs; the desert still lay asleep, tranced in a purple and golden-streaked mist.
"Come, come!" said Jones, in his big voice.

"We're slow; here's the sun." "Easy, easy," replied Frank, "we've all the time there is." When Frank threw the saddle over Satan I interrupted him and said I would care for my horse henceforward.