Fifty feet from the camp rose the sloping north wall of the arroyo, with some dwarf spruce trees fringing its edge.

Sanderson had taken a look at the section of country visible from the arroyo edge before pitching his camp.

There were featureless sand hills and a wide stretch of desert.
Sanderson started to get to his feet.

Then he sat down again, stiffening slowly, his right hand slipping quickly to the butt of the pistol at his right hip.

His chin went forward, his lips straightened, and his eyes gleamed with cold alertness.
A horseman had appeared from somewhere in the vast space beyond the arroyo edge.