He felt assured that the wind caused by riding would keep them burning.

After he had lighted the grass all he had to do was to hurry back to his station and there await developments.
The day passed slowly, and it was hot.

The heat-waves rose in dark, wavering lines and veils from the valley.

The wind blew almost a gale.
Thin, curling sheets of sand blew up over the crests of the slopes, and the sound it made was a soft, silken rustling, very low.

The sky was a steely blue above and copper close over the distant walls.
That afternoon, toward the close, Slone ate the last of the meat.