midnight
He knew that the buckboard was well in advance of him in time , but it must take the longer wagon trail to the westward of Sky Top , while for himself there were shorter paths across the mountains . He rode on until night fell , and the moon arose , flooding all the mountain range with wondrous silvery light , which grew the plainer as he left the whispering pines and came into the dwindled piñons of the lower levels . Then up and down , over and over , he crossed the edges of other spurs , coming down from the great backbone of the range . It was past midnight when he reached the flat-topped mesa near the Nogales divide , where there were no trees at all , and where ancient pottery , relics of a forgotten Heart 's Desire of another race and time , crumbled beneath his horse 's hoofs . Here Curly loosened the saddle cinches , flung down the bridle-rein over Pinto 's head again , and himself lay down to sleep , uncovered , but hardy as any mountain bear that roamed the hills . When he awoke the red sun hung poised on the shoulder of Blanco , far away , as though to receive the ghostly worship of those who once lived and loved , and prayed here , in the long ago . So now he ate as he might , and drank at the Rio Bonito , a dozen miles farther on , and went his way comforted .