The croaking of a raven wakened me and I rolled out of bed, realizing as I stumbled to my feet that I had slept dreamlessly. Huntoon Rogers had disappeared and I was left with the annoying thought that he had dressed and vanished without my hearing him. Through the window I could look down upon the camp at the ranch, where already there were signs of life. Two horseback riders were setting out upon an early-morning excursion; a motor car was maneuvering near the filling station. Beyond the camp, towering above the valley floor were the Panamints, rearing gigantic sun bathed peaks into a clear blue sky. There was a vast unbroken peace overlying the whole scene, against which the croaking of a single raven seemed an infinitesimal sound.
Rogers was just beginning his breakfast when I joined
