The white dog snuggled close to him.

The other whined and pattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched on guard.

And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.
When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright steel-gray.
The air had a cold tang.

Arising, he greeted the fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire.

Strips of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the dogs.