Solitude, the empty aisles of the forest, the far miles of lonely wilderness--were these the added all?
Spades took a swinging, rhythmic lope up the winding trail.

The wind fanned her hot face.

The sting of whipping aspen branches was pleasant.

A deep rumble of thunder shook the sultry air.

Up beyond the green slope of the canyon massed the creamy clouds, shading darker and darker.