Unconsciously she meant that she would never ride up here again, because Slone would not be here.

A wind always blew through the pass, and that was why the sand was so clean and hard.

To-day it was a pleasant wind, not hot, nor laden with dust, and somehow musical in the cedars.

The blue smoke from Slone's fire curled away and floated out of sight.

It was lonely, with the haunting presence of the broken walls ever manifest.