It was, perhaps, a loneliness of vast stretches of valley and stone, clear to the eye, even after sunset.

That black mountain range, which looked close enough to ride to before dark, was a hundred miles distant.
The shades of night fell swiftly, and it was dark by the time the hunters finished the meal.

Then the campfire had burned low.

One of the three dragged branches of dead cedars and replenished the fire.

Quickly it flared up, with the white flame and crackle characteristic of dry cedar.