Crossing the Eastern Divide

I GIL AND I crossed the eastern divide about two by the sun.

We pulled up for a look at the little town in the big valley and the mountains on the other side,

with the crest of the Sierra showing faintly beyond like the rim of a day moon.

We didn't look as long as we do sometimes; after winter range, we were excited about getting back

to town. When the horses had stopped trembling from the last Climb, Gil took off his

sombrero, pushed his sweaty hair back with the same hand, and returned the

sombrero, the way he did when something was going to happen. We reined to the

right and went slowly down the steep stage road.