Glints of red snapped and sparkled in the east; a few late stars loitered along the broad, clean skies.

A jerky clatter of iron on rock echoed from the cliffs.

That was the four hobbled horses, browsing on the hillside: they snuffed and snorted cheerfully, rejoicing in the freshness of dawn.

From a limestone bluff, ten feet behind the bed, came a silver tinkle of falling water from a spring, dripping into its tiny pool.
Stan drew in a great breath and snuffed, exactly as the horses snuffed and from the same reason--to express delight; just as a hungry man smacks his lips over a titbit.

Pungent, aromatic, the odor of wood smoke alloyed the taintless air of dawn.