The stars were very large, and wonderfully bright, yet they seemed so much farther off than I had ever seen them.

The wind softly sifted the sand.
I hearkened to the tinkle of the cowbells on the hobbled horses.

The last thing I remembered was old Moze creeping close to my side, seeking the warmth of my body.
When I awakened, a long, pale line showed out of the dun-colored clouds in the east.

It slowly lengthened, and tinged to red.

Then the morning broke, and the slopes of snow on the San Francisco peaks behind us glowed a delicate pink.