noon
Got any faith in anything left ? '' From the great plateau of the Snake River , at a point that is far from any main station , the stage-road sinks into a hollow which the winds might have scooped , so constantly do they pounce and delve and circle round the spot . Down in this pothole , where sand has drifted into the infrequent wheel tracks , there is a dead stillness while the perpetual land gale is roaring and troubling above . One noon at the latter end of summer a wagon carrying four persons , with camp gear and provision for a self-subsisting trip , jolted down into this hollow , the horses sweating at a walk as they beat through the heavy sand . The teamster drew them up and looked hard at the singular , lonely place . `` I do n't see any signs of that old corral , do you ? '' objected the man beside him .