and then, making the pines send out a great note through the basin, like breakers in a heavy sea. But we made cosey in the tent. We pitched the tent this night, and I was glad to have it shut out the mountain peaks. They showed above the banks where we camped; and in the starlight their black shapes rose stark against the sky. They, with the pines and the wind, were a bed-room too unearthly this night. And as soon as our supper dishes were washed we went inside to our lantern and our game of cribbage.
"This is snug," said the Virginian, as we played. "That wind don't get down here."
"Smoking is snug, too," said I. And we marked our points for an hour, with no words save about the cards.
"I'll be pretty near glad when we get out of these mountains," said the Virginian. "They're most too big."
The pines had altogether ceased; but their silence was as tremendous as their roar had been.
"I don't know, though," he resumed. "There's times when the plains can be awful big, too."
Presently we finished a hand, and he said, "Let me see that paper."
He sat reading it apparently through, while I arranged my blankets to make a warm bed. Then, since the paper continued to absorb him, I got myself ready, and slid between my blankets for the night. "You'll need another candle soon in that lantern," said I.
He put the paper down. "I would do it all over again," he began. "The whole thing just the same. He knowed the customs of the country,
