Upon the buildings Calumet's army of memories descended and he forgot the desert, the long ride, the bleak days of his exile, as he yielded to solemn introspection.
Yet, even now, the expression of his face did not change.

A little longer he scanned the valley and then the army of memories marched out of his vision and he took up the reins and sent the pony forward.

The little animal tossed its head impatiently, perhaps scenting food and companionship, but Calumet's heavy hand on the reins discouraged haste.
For Calumet was in no hurry.

He had not yet worked out an explanation for the strange whim that had sent him home after an absence of thirteen years and he wanted time to study over it.

His lips took on a satiric curl as he meditated, riding slowly down into the valley.