We lit a fire without fear, for the smoke was hid in the cedar branches, and some of us roasted corn-cakes.

Our food in the saddle-bags would not last long, and I foresaw a ticklish business when it came to hunting for the pot.

A gunshot in these narrow glens would reverberate like a cannon.
We dozed peacefully in the green shade, and smoked our pipes, waiting for the return of our envoys.

They came towards sundown, slipping among us like ghosts.
Ringan signalled to me, and we put our coats over the horses' heads to prevent their whinnying.

He stamped out the last few ashes of the fire, and Shalah motioned us all flat on our faces.