Venters watched the lengthening of the rays and bars, and marveled at his own league-long shadow.

The sun sank.

There was instant shading of brightness about him, and he saw a kind of cold purple bloom creep ahead of him to cross the canyon, to mount the opposite slope and chase and darken and bury the last golden flare of sunlight.
Venters rode into a trail that he always took to get down into the canyon.

He dismounted and found no tracks but his own made days previous.

Nevertheless he sent the dog Ring ahead and waited.