Streetlights and house lights and lanterns in miners' tents fade out above him into the stars so that he can't tell, at the very top of the mountains, which are stars and which electric lamps. Too many lights. Quiet downtown and yet so many lights in the miners' cabins. In the distance, a steam whistle hoots a warning to a hoistman. Somewhere far up Brewery Gulch, where the Mexes live, a burro answers it.
Dogs speak to one another from hilltop to hilltop.
The man from the dispensary heaves the sheets up into the boxcar. McCrea hears Merrill and the other man talking tersely to one another. They sound as if they're straining with something heavy. After a time, Merrill comes to the door of the boxcar and motions half a dozen more men to come up. McCrea is not one of them.