The breaking of their solitude, though by a well-meaning friend, had not only dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of fear.

Both had seen the footprint in the sand.
Venters did no more work that day.

Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and the canyon bird whistled its melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the cliffs, and the camp-fire blazed and burned down to red embers.

To Venters a subtle difference was apparent in all of these, or else the shadowy change had been in him.

He hoped that on the morrow this slight depression would have passed away.
In that measure, however, he was doomed to disappointment.