SMITH'S WORK The short September day was nearly gone.

The sun still rode above the great peaks that outlined the western horizon.

Already the shadows were beginning to creep up the eastern slope of the hills that clambered till they reached the bases of the great mountains.

A purple haze hung over mountain, hill and rolling plain, softening the sharp outlines that ordinarily defined the features of the foothill landscape.
With the approach of evening the fierce sun heat had ceased and a fresh cooling western breeze from the mountain passes brought welcome refreshment alike to the travelers and their beasts, wearied with their three days' drive.
"That is the last hill, Moira," cried her sister-in-law, pointing to a long slope before them.

"The very last, I promise you.