That night Charley Wyman stayed to supper at Smith’s.

They were trolling on their way to the point to set night lines for rainbow trout.

There was fighting in the mountains and at night we could see the flashes from the artillery.

We went along the road all night in the dark and the adjutant kept riding up alongside my kitchen and saying, “You must put it out.”

The night before they were to come back she didn’t sleep at all, that is she didn’t think she slept because it was all mixed up in a dream about not sleeping and really not sleeping.

There was much traffic at night and many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition on each side of their packsaddles and gray motortrucks that carried men, and other trucks with loads covered with canvas that moved slower in the traffic.

To her son these words conveyed an extraordinary joy, as if it were settled the expedition were bound to take place, and the wonder to which he had looked forward, for years and years it seemed, was, after a night’s darkness and a day’s sail, within touch.