Venters sullenly acquiesced to the idea that the rider had been too quick and too shrewd for him.
Strangely and doggedly, however, Venters clung to his foreboding of Card's downfall.
The wind died away; the red sun topped the far distant western rise of slope; and the long, creeping purple shadows lengthened.

The rims of the canyons gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth blue smoke.

Silence enfolded the scene.
It was broken by a horrid, long-drawn scream of a horse and the thudding of heavy hoofs.

Venters sprang erect and wheeled south.

Along the canyon rim, near the edge, came Wrangle, once more in thundering flight.
Venters gasped in amazement.