The fragrant breath of the sage slopes came to him as something precious he must feel and love more.

A haunting transience mocked him from these rolling gray hills.
Old White Slides loomed gray and dark up into the blue, grim and stern reminder of age and of fleeting time.

There was a cloud on Wade's horizon.
"Wils is waitin' down there," said Wade, pointing to a grove of aspens below.

"Reckon it's pretty close to the house, an' a trail runs along there.

But Wils can't ride very well yet, an' this appeared to be the best place." "Ben, I don't care if dad or Jack know I've met Wilson.