For a time we beheld the spectacle of the sunset, though our minds were not upon it. We conversed upon the possibilities of adventure in the Far West, upon the circus which we were leaving behind, and, most of all, of the excitement probably now rife in our homes. Ed Mason, it appeared, had left a note behind him to inform his family of our departure, of the utter folly of any attempt at pursuit, and of the fact that our first stopping-place would be Omaha. Why he fixed upon Omaha, except that it is remote from our home on the Atlantic coast, I am unable to explain. By this time, we agreed, our families had begun to wish that they had treated us better in the matter of that side-show. Some low hills rose upon the western horizon, and the sun disappeared behind them not long after we had finished supper. It cast a golden outline on a strange procession of dark gray clouds which now came out of the north and moved slowly across the place lately occupied by the ball of fire. They followed one after the other like uncouth animals--the dromedary with his hump was there, the elephant, and other figures, longer and lower, like serpents and lizards. We watched them without speaking. A faint breeze moved the branches of the apple tree over our heads. It was perceptibly darker now, and not easy to make out the details of the fields and meadows. Two men passed along the dusty road on the other side of the stone wall. They did not notice us, but we heard them discussing a dog after they had vanished from sight. The sky in the east and north turned rosy, and its colors were reflected in the pond. A man with a lantern moved about Mr. Brown's barnyard for a while, then disappeared indoors, and presently a light shone from one of the windows of the house. The glow in the west; the pageant of clouds, whose fiery edges had grown dimmer; the immensity of the overarching sky, still turquoise-colored--all these, together with the disappearance of the familiar landscape, conspired to make the two outlaws under the apple tree feel rather diminutive. The swallows had ceased their flight and gone to bed. Two or three robins screamed excitedly for a while, and darted in apparent hurry from tree to tree. Finally they became quiet, except for an occasional outburst of twittering. Two bats began to flutter about, with their high, thin, squeaking cries like the opening and shutting of a new pair of scissors. The darkness was far advanced; three or four stars were visible, and the pink tint had faded from the sky. The pond gleamed like silver, but its banks were black and mysterious. "We ought to start awful early in the mornin'," said Ed Mason; "p'r'aps we better go to bed now." He began this remark in a voice that sounded fearfully loud, but said the closing words in a whisper. "P'r'aps we had," I agreed,--also in a whisper. There was no one within hearing: it seemed strange that we should have to whisper.