Some of the wisest of us, remembering the thunderclouds, stacked our gear under the veranda roof of the old ranch house.
Supper was ready.

We seized the tin battery, filled the plates with the meat, bread, and canned corn, and squatted on our heels.

The food was good, and we ate hugely in silence.

When we could hold no more we lit pipes.

Then we had leisure to notice that the storm cloud was mounting in a portentous silence to the zenith, quenching the brilliant desert stars.
"Rolls" were scattered everywhere.