But at last he reached the slow rise of jumbled rock that evidently marked the extent of weathering on that side.

Here he turned to the right and rode out into the valley.

The floor was level and thickly overgrown with long, dead grass and dead greasewood, as dry as tinder.

It was easy to account for the dryness; neither snow nor rain had visited that valley for many months.

Slone whipped one of the sticks in the wind and soon had the smoldering end red and showering sparks.