Then we let them go as best pleased them.
By now the desert bad turned slate-coloured, and the brush was olive green with evening.

The hard, uncompromising ranges, twenty miles to eastward, had softened behind a wonderful veil of purple and pink, vivid as the chiffon of a girl's gown.

To the south and southwest the Chiricahuas and Dragoons were lost in thunderclouds which flashed and rumbled.
We jogged homewards, our cutting ponies, tired with the quick, sharp work, shuffling knee deep in a dusk that seemed to disengage itself and rise upwards from the surface of the desert.

Everybody was hungry and tired.

At the chuck wagon we threw off our saddles and turned the mounts into the remuda.