hurt their eyes died out
suddenly as the red sun dipped behind a wall of rock. Half an hour
later the heat of the brulee seemed to dissipate, and a wondrous
invigorating coolness crept in with the dusk, when they made their
camp and picketed the jaded horse. It did not seem worth while to
light a fire, as they had no water to use for tea; and, after eating a
little grindstone bread and salt pork cooked the previous day, they
lay down rolled in their blankets.

CHAPTER XXII

GRENFELL GOES ON

Weston, tired as he was, did not sleep well that night. Although they
had a pack-horse he had carried two blankets and a bag of flour, and
when a man has marched from sunrise until dusk under a heavy burden,
his shoulders, as a rule, ache distressfully. In addition to this
discomfort, Grenfell's manner throughout that day's march had roused
an unsettling sense of expectation in his comrades. The man had limped
wearily and continually lagged behind, but he had, in spite of it,
resolutely insisted on their pushing on as fast as possible. He had
also looked about him with a certain suggestive curiosity every now
and then, and though he had once or twice admitted that he could not
positively identify anything he saw, his air of restrained eagerness
had made its impression on Weston.

A half-moon had sailed up into the eastern sky when the latter wakened
and raised himself drowsily on one elbow. All round him the great
burned pines towered in black and shadowy columns against the silvery
light, and a stillness that was almost oppressive brooded over the
valley. No sound of running water came out of it, and there was not a
breath of wind. It was cool, however, and Weston drew his dusty
blanket higher about his shoulders as he glanced round the camp.
Devine lay close by sleeping like a log; but Grenfell was huddled at
the foot of a tree, and it became evident to his comrade that he, at
least, was wide awake.

"Haven't you done enough to make you sleep?" Weston asked.

Grenfell laughed softly.

"I haven't closed my eyes. I can't keep them off the range in front of
us."

Weston looked up and saw a huge black rampart cutting sharp and clear
against the blueness of the night.

"Don't tell me that you recognize it," he said.

"Three nicks," replied Grenfell. "After the third one, a rounded peak.
I can't tell whether I remember it from another time, but that
description came to me as if I'd used it, and I think I must have