Bransford of Rainbow Range / Originally Published under the title of Bransford in Arcadia, or, The Little Eohippus

Originally Published under the title of
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1913, by Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1914, by Henry Holt and Company
Copyright, 1920, by The H. K. Fly Company

The long fall round-up was over. The wagon, homeward bound, made camp for the last night out at the Sinks of Lost River. Most of the men, worn with threescore night-guards, were buried under their tarps in the deep sleep of the weary; sound as that of the just, and much more common.
By the low campfire a few yet lingered: old-timers, iron men, whose wiry and seasoned strength was toil-proof—and Leo Ballinger, for whom youth, excitement and unsated novelty served in lieu of fitness.
The “firelighters,” working the wide range again from Ancho to Hueco, from the Mal Pais to Glencoe, fell silent now, to mark an unstaled miracle.
The clustered lights of Rainbow’s End shone redly, near and low. Beyond, above, dominant, the black, unbroken bulk of Rainbow Range shut out the east. The clear-cut crest mellowed to luminous curves, feathery with far-off pines; the long skyline thrilled with frosty fire, glowed, sparkled—the cricket’s chirp was stilled; the slow, late moon rose to a hushed and waiting world.
On the sharp crest she paused, irresolute, tiptoe, quivering, rosily aflush. Above floated a web of gossamer. She leaped up, spurning the black rim; glowed, palpitant, through that filmy lace—and all the desert throbbed with vibrant light.
Cool and sweet and fresh, from maiden leagues of clean, brown earth the desert winds made whisper in grass and fragrant shrub; yucca, mesquite and greasewood swayed—so softly, you had not known save as the long shadows courtesied and danced.