fact, it was burned so deeply into his memory that for weeks afterward he would occasionally spring up in bed during sleep and cry out, thinking that once again he was at the heart of the terrible maelstrom that had so nearly overwhelmed him.
It was a beautiful July morning, the American birthday in fact, but it was more like a June day than a July day. The sky was of that dreamy far-away blue which suggests infinite distance. Great white clouds were floating across the blue like stately ships. The distant mountains looked more like a range from dreamland than real peaks and cliffs of interchanging rock and forest. The air was soft and balmy, sparrows were chipping in the grass, Piñon birds were scolding in the thickets, and a sense of infinite peace was over all the land. It was one of those days which make a man gaze, first at the blue sky, then at the distant mountains, then at the green pasture land close at hand, and finally, when he had drunk in all this ravishing beauty, to heave a deep sigh, stretch his muscles and thank God for life. This was just what Larry did and then he noticed that he and Patches had stopped upon a sunny slope of the mesa where wild strawberries were plenty, so he dismounted and allowed the horse to graze upon the green grass while he ate wild strawberries much as he had done when he was a lad in that far away New England.
