Dwellers in the Mirage Large Print

I leaned against the tree trunk. The sounds, or rather the evil memory they had evoked, had shaken me more than I was willing to admit, even to myself. The thing I had carried for two years in the buckskin bag at the end of the chain around my neck had seemed to stir; turn cold. I wondered how much Jim had divined of what I had tried to cover... Why had he put out the fire? Because he had known I was afraid? To force me to face my fear and conquer it?...Or had it been the Indian instinct to seek cover in darkness?...By his own admission, chant and drum-roll had played on his nerves as they had on mine...