Two in
our waggon knew night as she shines upon the tropics, but even that
bore no comparison. The nameless colour of the sky, the hues of
the star-fire, and the incredible projection of the stars
themselves, starting from their orbits, so that the eye seemed to
distinguish their positions in the hollow of space--these were
things that we had never seen before and shall never see again.
Meanwhile, in this altered night, we proceeded on our way among the
scents and silence of the forest, reached the top of the grade,
wound up by Hanson's, and came at last to a stand under the flying
gargoyle of the chute. Sam, who had been lying back, fast asleep,
with the moon on his face, got down, with the remark that it was
pleasant "to be home." The waggon turned and drove away, the noise
gently dying in the woods, and we clambered up the rough path,
Caliban's great feat of engineering, and came home to Silverado.
The moon shone in at the eastern doors and windows, and over the
lumber on the platform. The one tall pine beside. the ledge was
steeped in silver. Away up the canyon, a wild cat welcomed us with
three discordant squalls. But once we had lit a candle, and began
to review our improvements, homely in either sense, and count our
stores, it was wonderful what a feeling of possession and
permanence grow up in the hearts of the lords of Silverado.
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