Thought seemed remote from him
then; he watched, and watched, until he saw the last spark of fire die
from the snow-slopes of Coconina. The desert became dimmer and dimmer;
the oasis lost its outline in a bottomless purple pit, except for a faint
light, like a star.
The bleating of sheep aroused him and he returned to camp. The fire was
still bright. Wolf slept close to Mescal's tent; Piute was not in sight;
and Naab had rolled himself in blankets. Crawling into his bed, Hare
stretched aching legs and lay still, as if he would never move again.
Tired as he was, the bleating of the sheep, the clear ring of the bell on
Black Bolly, and the faint tinkle of lighter bells on some of the rams,
drove away sleep for a while. Accompanied by the sough of the wind
through the cedars the music of the bells was sweet, and he listened till
he heard no more.
A thin coating of frost crackled on his bed when he awakened; and out
from under the shelter of the cedar all the ground was hoar-white. As he
slipped from his blankets the same strong smell of black sage and juniper
smote him, almost like a blow. His nostrils seemed glued together by
some rich piny pitch; and when he opened his lips to breathe a sudden
pain, as of a knife-thrust, pierced his lungs.
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