Steep black-cindered slope, with its soft gray patches of grass, sheered down and down, and out in rolling slope to merge upon a cedar-dotted level.  Nothing moved below, but a red-tailed hawk sailed across her vision.  How still—­how gray the desert floor as it reached away, losing its black dots, and gaining bronze spots of stone!  By plain and prairie it fell away, each inch of gray in her sight magnifying into its league-long roll.  On and on, and down across dark lines that were steppes, and at last blocked and changed by the meandering green thread which was the verdure of a desert river.  Beyond stretched the white sand, where whirlwinds of dust sent aloft their funnel-shaped spouts; and it led up to the horizon-wide ribs and ridges of red and walls of yellow and mountains of black, to the dim mound of purple so ethereal and mystic against the deep-blue cloud-curtained band of sky.

And on the moment the sun was obscured and that world of colorful flame went out, as if a blaze had died.

Deprived of its fire, the desert seemed to retreat, to fade coldly and gloomily, to lose its great landmarks in dim obscurity.  Closer, around to the north, the canyon country yawned with innumerable gray jaws, ragged and hard, and the riven earth took on a different character.  It had no shadows.  It grew flat and, like the sea, seemed to mirror the vast gray cloud expanse.  The sublime vanished, but the desolate remained.  No warmth—­no movement—­no life!  Dead stone it was, cut into a million ruts by ruthless ages.  Carley felt that she was gazing down into chaos.

At this moment, as before, a hawk had crossed her vision, so now a raven sailed by, black as coal, uttering a hoarse croak.

“Quoth the raven—­” murmured Carley, with a half-bitter laugh, as she turned away shuddering in spite of an effort of self-control.  “Maybe he meant this wonderful and terrible West is never for such as I. . . .  Come, let us go.”

Carley rode all that afternoon in the rear of the caravan, gradually succumbing to the cold raw wind and the aches and pains to which she had subjected her flesh.  Nevertheless, she finished the day’s journey, and, sorely as she needed Glenn’s kindly hand, she got off her horse without aid.

Camp was made at the edge of the devastated timber zone that Carley had found so dispiriting.  A few melancholy pines were standing, and everywhere, as far as she could see southward, were blackened fallen trees and stumps.  It was a dreary scene.  The few cattle grazing on the bleached grass appeared as melancholy as the pines.  The sun shone fitfully at sunset, and then sank, leaving the land to twilight and shadows.

Once in a comfortable seat beside the camp fire, Carley had no further desire to move.  She was so far exhausted and weary that she could no longer appreciate the blessing of rest.  Appetite, too, failed her this meal time.  Darkness soon settled down.  The wind moaned through the pines.  She was indeed glad to crawl into bed, and not even the thought of skunks could keep her awake.