"
He did not hear the low voice, for he was looking out over the canyon.
A few moments later they swung out onto the very crest of the range.
On all sides the hills dropped away through the gloom of the evening,
brown nearby, but falling off through a faint blue haze and growing
blue-black with the distance. A sharp wind, chill with the coming of
night, cut at them. Not a hundred feet overhead shot a low-winging
hawk back from his day's hunting and rising only high enough to clear
the range and then plunge down toward his nest.
Like the hawks they peered down from their point of vantage into the
profound gloom of the valley below. They shaded their eyes and studied
it with a singular interest for long moments, patient, as the hawk.
So these two marauders stared until she raised a hand slowly and then
pointed down. He followed the direction she indicated, and there,
through the haze of the evening, he made out a glimmer of lights.
He said sharply: "I know the place, but we'll have a devil of a ride
to get there.
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