She felt extreme weariness, yet somehow it did not seem to be of her body.

And she sat down in the shade and tried to think.

She saw a creeping lizard, cactus flowers, the drooping burros, the resting dogs, an eagle high over a yellow crag.

Once the meanest flower, a color, the flight of the bee, or any living thing had given her deepest joy.
Lassiter had gone off, yielding to his incurable blood lust, probably to his own death; and she was sorry, but there was no feeling in her sorrow.
Suddenly from the mouth of the canyon just beyond her rang out a clear, sharp report of a rifle.

Echoes clapped.