still-faced

john9221

ans, still-faced, and keen-eyed. Two of them ap-
peared to be tired out, and lagged at the camp-fire duties. When the
meager meal was prepared they sat, cross-legged, before a ragged tar-
paulin, eating and drinking in silence.
The sky in the west was rosy, slowly darkening. The valley floor bil-
lowed away, ridged and cut, growing gray and purple and dark. Walls
of stone, pink with the last rays of the setting sun, inclosed the valley,
stretching away toward a long, low, black mountain range.
The place was wild, beautiful, open [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], with something nameless that
made the desert different from any other country. It was [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], perhaps, a
loneliness of vast stretches of valley and stone, clear to the eye [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], 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.
The night wind had risen, moaning through the gnarled, stunted cedars
near by, and it blew the fragrant wood-smoke into the faces of the two
huntyilai:
[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

but he
disregarded it