Dorsey's back was turned.

Jim Scarboro was swearing helplessly under his breath.

Tall Eric had taken off his hat and fumbled with it; the low sun was ruddy in his bright hair.

Perhaps it was that same sun which flamed so swiftly in Zurich's face.
"We might as well go back," he said dully, and turned his horse's head toward the little huddle of hills in the southwest.
Boland watched them go with a confused mind, and sank back to sleep again.
* * * * * "Jackson," said Pete in the morning, "you and Frank stay here.

I reckon there'll be no use to take the wagon down to the old claim; but us three are going down to take a look, now we've come this far.