She loved it all--the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of the sage.
While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change.

The bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green alfalfa fields.

Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her.

Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west.

Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood out strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks.