The rest of the day was spent in apprehension and odd jobs. Just trying to kill time and thought until half past five.
About four o’clock, I was raking up some shavings around one of the newly completed shacks. Brent was gathering them up and burning them. The sun had gone partly under a mischievous gray cloud which at once gave the earth a sickly appearance.
“Brent,” I said, looking skyward with squinting eyes, “you might possibly see the sunset in the mountains, but you’ll never see the moonlight to-night!”
“Why, what makes you think so?” he asked. I pointed to the sun.
“Just a passing cloud,” he said. “Be clear in another minute.”
Tom and Rivers ahead, and Brent and myself following, were walking along the first slope at just six o’clock that evening.
The sun was beginning to set and looked like a huge balloon poised on the crest of old Hogback. Violet-colored shadows traced in weird shaped patterns spread across the sky. And from the valley below a purplish mist was rising, completely obliterating our view of the camp. Then the sun sank out of sight.
“Goin’ to rain!” Rivers said, as he adjusted his rifle over his shoulder. Tom also had his pistol (which I knew he didn’t intend using if he could help it), but Brent and I were unarmed except for a hatchet.
“What makes you think it will rain, Rivers?” Brent asked.
“Sun set too quick!”