The very air was motionless, as if the never-tired wind itself drowsed indolently.
And alone in the hushed bigness of that land the man walked with his thoughts--brooding, perhaps, over whatever it was that had so strangely placed him there--dreaming, it may be, over that which might have been, or that which yet might be--viewing with questioning, wondering, half-fearful eyes the mighty, untamed scenes that met his eye on every hand.

Nor did anyone see him, for at every sound of approaching horse or vehicle he went aside from the highway to hide in the bushes or behind convenient rocks.

And always when he came from his hiding place to resume his journey that odd smile of self-mockery was on his face.
At noon he rested for a little beside the road while he ate a meager sandwich that he took from the pocket of his coat.

Then he pushed on again, with grim determination, deeper and deeper into the heart and life of that world which was, to him, so evidently new and strange.

The afternoon was well spent when he made his way--wearily now, with drooping shoulders and dragging step--up the long slope of the Divide that marks the eastern boundary of the range about Williamson Valley.
At the summit, where the road turns sharply around a shoulder of the mountain and begins the steep descent on the other side of the ridge, he stopped.