This was comforting, for half the sky was barred with leaden cloud and the parched grass gleamed beneath it lividly white, while the light that struck a ridge-top here and there had a sinister luridness.

It was getting cold and the wind was dropping; and that was not a favorable sign.
Pushing the cart through the softer places, dragging the jaded pony by the head, they hurried on and at last plunged through a creek with the trees just beyond.

A few minutes later they tethered the pony to lee of the cart, and set up their tent.

While Blake was rummaging out provisions, and Harding searching the bluff for dry sticks, they heard a beat of hoofs and a man rode up, leading a second horse.

He got down and hobbled the horses before he turned to Blake.
"From the south?
You're for Sweetwater ?" he asked.
"Yes.