The monuments trooped down into the valley to spread out and grow isolated in the distance.

Slone's camp was in a clump of cedars surrounding a spring.
There was grass and white sage where rabbits darted in and out.
Lucy did not approach this camp from that roundabout trail which she had made upon the first occasion of her visiting Slone.

He had found an opening in the wall, and by riding this way into the pass Lucy cut off miles.

In fact, the camp was not over fifteen miles from Bostil's Ford.
It was so close that Lucy was worried lest some horse-tracker should stumble on the trail and follow her up into the pass.
This morning she espied Slone at his outlook on a high rock that had fallen from the great walls.

She always looked to see if he was there, and she always saw him.