The valley had closed up, so that the lofty walls cast shadows that met.

A clump of cottonwoods surrounding a spring, abundance of rich grass, willows and flowers lining the banks, formed an oasis in the bare valley.

Slone was tired out from the day of ceaseless toil down and up, and he could scarcely keep his eyes open.

But he tried to stay awake.

The dead silence of the valley, the dry fragrance, the dreaming walls, the advent of night low down, when up on the ramparts the last red rays of the sun lingered, the strange loneliness--these were sweet and comforting to him.
And that night's sleep was as a moment.