TALES OF LONELY TRAILS

BY ZANE GREY

1922

[Illustration: Zane Grey]

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. NONNEZOSHE

II. COLORADO TRAILS

III. ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON

IV. TONTO BASIN

V. DEATH VALLEY

ILLUSTRATIONS

ZANE GREY

Z. G. AFTER TWO MONTHS IN THE WILDS

THERE WAS SOMETHING BEYOND THE WHITE PEAKED RANGES

WEIRD AND WONDERFUL MONUMENTS IN MONUMENT VALLEY

SUNSET ON THE DESERT

CAVE OF THE CLIFF DWELLERS

THIS IMMENSE CAVE WOULD HOLD TRINITY CHURCH. IN IT LIES THE RUINEDCLIFF DWELLING CALLED BETATAKIN

THE WIND-WORN TREACHEROUS SLOPES ON THE WAY TO NONNEZOSHE

FIRST SIGHT OF THE GREAT NATURAL BRIDGE

NONNEZOSHE

PACK HORSES ON A SAGE SLOPE IN COLORADO

THE GRASSY UPLANDS, WITH WHITELEY'S PEAK IN THE DISTANCE

A SPRUCE-SHADED, FLOWER-SKIRTED LAKE

LOOKING DOWN UPON CLOUD-FILLED VALLEYS

SEARCHING BURNED-OVER RANGES FOR GAME

A HUNTER'S CABIN ON A FROSTY MORNING

THE TROUBLESOME COUNTRY, NOTED FOR GRIZZLY BEARS

UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE FLATTOP MOUNTAINS

WHITE ASPEN TREE SHOWING MARKS OF BEAR CLAWS

A BLACK BEAR TREED

CROSSING THE COLORADO RIVER AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAND CANYON

WHERE ROLLS THE COLORADO

DOWN THE SHINUMO TRAIL OF THE NORTH RIVER

CAMP AT THE SADDLE

BUCKSKIN FOREST

BUFFALO JONES WITH SOUNDER AND RANGER

JONES ABOUT TO LASSO A MOUNTAIN LION

REMAINS OF A DEER KILLED BY LIONS

A LION TIED

FIGHTING WEETAHS (BUFFALO BULLS) ON BUFFALO JONES'S DESERT RANCH

TREED LION

TREED LION

TREED LION

HIDING

A DRINK OF COLD GRANITE WATER UNDER THE RIM

WHICH IS THE PIUTE

WILD HORSES DRINKING ON A PROMONTORY IN THE GRAND CANYON

JONES AND EMETT PACKING LION ON HORSE

JONES CLIMBING UP TO LASSO LION

TWO LIONS IN ONE TREE

JONES, EMETT, AND THE NAVAJO WITH THE LIONS

BILLY IN CAMP

LION LICKING SNOWBALL

SOME OF OUR MENAGERIE IN BUCKSKIN FOREST

WHITE MUSTANG STALLION WITH HIS BUNCH OF BLACKS IN SNAKE GULCH

ON THE WAY HOME

RIDING WITH A NAVAJO

THE AUTHOR AND HIS MEN

ROMER-BOY ON HIS FAVORITE STEED

THE TONTO BASIN

LISTENING FOR THE HOUNDS

ZANE GREY ON DON CARLOS

WILD TURKEY

WILD TURKEYS

THE WHITE QUAKING ASPS

THE SKUNK, A FREQUENT AND RATHER DANGEROUS VISITOR IN CAMP

ON THE RIM

WHERE ELK, DEER, AND TURKEY DRINK

WHERE BEAR CROSS THE RIDGE FROM ONE CANYON TO ANOTHER

CLIMBING OVER THE TOUGH MANZANITA

BEAR IN SIGHT ACROSS CANYON

Z. G. 'S CINNAMON BEAR

R. C. 'S BIG BROWN BEAR

ANOTHER BEAR

MEAT IN CAMP

BURROS PACKED FOR THE TRAIL

THE DEADLY CHOLLA, MOST POISONOUS AND PAIN INFLICTING OF THE CACTUS

THE COLORED CALICO MOUNTAINS

DOWN THE LONG WINDING WASH TO DEATH VALLEY

DESOLATION AND DECAY. LOOKING DOWN OVER THE DENUDED RIDGES TO THESTARK VALLEY OF DEATH

DESERT GRAVES

THE GHASTLY SWEEP OF DEATH VALLEY

IN THE CENTER OF THE SALT-INCRUSTED FLOOR OF DEATH VALLEY, THREEHUNDRED FEET BELOW SEA LEVEL

TALES OF LONELY TRAILS

CHAPTER I

NONNEZOSHE

John Wetherill, one of the famous Wetherill brothers and trader atKayenta, Arizona, is the man who discovered Nonnezoshe, which isprobably the most beautiful and wonderful natural phenomenon inthe world. Wetherill owes the credit to his wife, who, through herinfluence with the Indians finally after years succeeded in gettingthe secret of the great bridge. 

After three trips to Marsh Pass and Kayenta with my old guide, AlDoyle of Flagstaff, I finally succeeded in getting Wetherill to takeme in to Nonnezoshe. This was in the spring of 1913 and my party wasthe second one, not scientific, to make the trip. Later this sameyear Wetherill took in the Roosevelt party and after that the Kolbbrothers. It is a safe thing to say that this trip is one of the mostbeautiful in the West. It is a hard one and not for everybody. Thereis no guide except Wetherill, who knows how to get there. And afterDoyle and I came out we admitted that we would not care to try toreturn over our back trail. We doubted if we could find the way. Thisis the only place I have ever visited which I am not sure I could findagain alone. 

My trip to Nonnezoshe gave me the opportunity to see also MonumentValley, and the mysterious and labyrinthine Canyon Segi with its greatprehistoric cliff-dwellings. 

The desert beyond Kayenta spread out impressively, bare red flatsand plains of sage leading to the rugged vividly-colored andwind-sculptured sandstone heights typical of the Painted Desert ofArizona. Laguna Creek, at that season, became flooded after everythunderstorm; and it was a treacherous red-mired quicksand where Iconvinced myself we would have stuck forever had it not been forWetherill's Navajos. 

We rode all day, for the most part closed in by ridges and bluffs, sothat no extended view was possible. It was hot, too, and the sand blewand the dust rose. Travel in northern Arizona is never easy, and thisgrew harder and steeper. There was one long slope of heavy sand thatI made sure would prove too much for Wetherill's pack mules. But theysurmounted it apparently less breathless than I was. Toward sunset astorm gathered ahead of us to the north with a promise of cooling andsultry air. 

At length we turned into a long canyon with straight rugged redwalls, and a sandy floor with quite a perceptible ascent. It appearedendless. Far ahead I could see the black storm-clouds; and by and byebegan to hear the rumble of thunder. Darkness had overtaken us by thetime we had reached the head of this canyon; and my first sight ofMonument Valley came with a dazzling flash of lightning. It revealeda vast valley, a strange world of colossal shafts and buttes of rock, magnificently sculptored, standing isolated and aloof, dark, weird, lonely. When the sheet lightning flared across the sky showing themonuments silhouetted black against that strange horizon the effectwas marvelously beautiful. I watched until the storm died away. 

[Illustration: Z. G. AFTER TWO MONTHS IN THE WILDS]

Dawn, with the desert sunrise, changed Monument Valley, bereft it ofits night gloom and weird shadow, and showed it in another aspect ofbeauty. It was hard for me to realize that those monuments were notthe works of man. The great valley must once have been a plateau ofred rock from which the softer strata had eroded, leaving the gentleleague-long slopes marked here and there by upstanding pillars andcolumns of singular shape and beauty. I rode down the sweet-scentedsage-slopes under the shadow of the lofty Mittens, and around andacross the valley, and back again to the height of land. And when Ihad completed the ride a story had woven itself into my mind; andthe spot where I stood was to be the place where Lin Slone taughtLucy Bostil to ride the great stallion Wildfire. 

[Illustration: THERE WAS SOMETHING BEYOND THE WHITE-PEAKED RANGES]

Two days' ride took us across country to the Segi. With this wonderfulcanyon I was familiar, that is, as familiar as several visits couldmake a man with such a bewildering place. In fact I had named itDeception Pass. The Segi had innumerable branches, all more or lessthe same size, and sometimes it was difficult to tell the main canyonfrom one of its tributaries. The walls were rugged and crumbling, of ared or yellow hue, upward of a thousand feet in height, and indentedby spruce-sided notches. 

There were a number of ruined cliff-dwellings, the most accessible ofwhich was Keet Seel. I could imagine no more picturesque spot. Ahuge wind-worn cavern with a vast slanted stained wall held upon aprojecting ledge or shelf the long line of cliff-dwellings. Thesesilent little stone houses with their vacant black eye-like windowshad strange power to make me ponder, and then dream. 

Next day, upon resuming our journey, it pleased me to try to find thetrail to Betatakin, the most noted, and surely the most wonderful andbeautiful ruin in all the West. In many places there was no trail atall, and I encountered difficulties, but in the end without much lossof time I entered the narrow rugged entrance of the canyon I had namedSurprise Valley. Sight of the great dark cave thrilled me as I thoughtit might have thrilled Bess and Venters, who had lived for me theirimagined lives of loneliness here in this wild spot. With the sightof those lofty walls and the scent of the dry sweet sage there rushedover me a strange feeling that "Riders of the Purple Sage" was true. My dream people of romance had really lived there once upon a time. I climbed high upon the huge stones, and along the smooth red wallswhere Pay Larkin once had glided with swift sure steps, and I enteredthe musty cliff-dwellings, and called out to hear the weird andsonorous echoes, and I wandered through the thickets and upon thegrassy spruce-shaded benches, never for a moment free of the story Ihad conceived there. Something of awe and sadness abided with me. Icould not enter into the merry pranks and investigations of my party. Surprise Valley seemed a part of my past, my dreams, my very self. I left it, haunted by its loneliness and silence and beauty, by thestory it had given me. 

That night we camped at Bubbling Spring, which once had been a geyserof considerable power. Wetherill told a story of an old Navajo who hadlived there. For a long time, according to the Indian tale, the oldchief resided there without complaining of this geyser that was wontto inundate his fields. But one season the unreliable waterspout madegreat and persistent endeavor to drown him and his people and horses. Whereupon the old Navajo took his gun and shot repeatedly at thegeyser, and thundered aloud his anger to the Great Spirit. The geyserebbed away, and from that day never burst forth again. 

[Illustration: WEIRD AND WONDERFUL MONUMENTS IN MONUMENT VALLEY]

[Illustration: SUNSET ON THE DESERT]

[Illustration: CAVE OF THE CLIFF DWELLERS]

Somewhere under the great bulge of Navajo Mountain I calculated that wewere coming to the edge of the plateau. The white bobbing pack-horsesdisappeared and then our extra mustangs. It is no unusual thing for aman to use three mounts on this trip. Then two of our Indiansdisappeared. But Wetherill waited for us and so did Nas ta Bega, thePiute who first took Wetherill down into Nonnezoshe Boco. As I came up Ithought we had indeed reached the end of the world. 

"It's down in there, " said Wetherill, with a laugh. 

Nas ta Bega made a slow sweeping gesture. There is always something sosignificant and impressive about an Indian when he points anywhere. Itis as if he says, "There, way beyond, over the ranges, is a place Iknow, and it is far. " The fact was that I looked at the Piute's dark, inscrutable face before I looked out into the void. 

My gaze then seemed impelled and held by things afar, a vast yellowand purple corrugated world of distance, apparently now on a levelwith my eyes. I was drawn by the beauty and grandeur of that scene;and then I was transfixed, almost by fear, by the realization thatI dared to venture down into this wild and upflung fastness. I keptlooking afar, sweeping the three-quarter circle of horizon till myjudgment of distance was confounded and my sense of proportion dwarfedone moment and magnified the next. 

Wetherill was pointing and explaining, but I had not grasped all hesaid. 

"You can see two hundred miles into Utah, " he went on. "That brightrough surface, like a washboard, is wind-worn rock. Those little linesof cleavage are canyons. There are a thousand canyons down there, andonly a few have we been in. That long purple ragged line is the GrandCanyon of the Colorado. And there, that blue fork in the red, that'swhere the San Juan comes in. And there's Escalante Canyon. "

I had to adopt the Indian's method of studying unlimited spaces in thedesert--to look with slow contracted eyes from near to far. 

The pack-train and the drivers had begun to zigzag down a long slope, bare of rock, with scant strips of green, and here and there a cedar. Half a mile down, the slope merged in what seemed a green level. But Iknew it was not level. This level was a rolling plain, growing darkergreen, with lines of ravines and thin, undefined spaces that might bemirage. Miles and miles it swept and rolled and heaved, to lose itswaves in apparent darker level. Round red rocks stood isolated. They resembled huge grazing cattle. But as I gazed these rocks werestrangely magnified. They grew and grew into mounds, castles, domes, crags, great red wind-carved buttes. One by one they drew my gazeto the wall of upflung rock. I seemed to see a thousand domes of athousand shapes and colors, and among them a thousand blue clefts, each of which was a canyon. 

Beyond this wide area of curved lines rose another wall, dwarfing thelower; dark red, horizon-long, magnificent in frowning boldness, andbecause of its limitless deceiving surfaces incomprehensible to thegaze of man. Away to the eastward began a winding ragged blue line, looping back upon itself, and then winding away again, growing widerand bluer. This line was San Juan Canyon. I followed that blue lineall its length, a hundred miles, down toward the west where it joineda dark purple shadowy cleft. And this was the Grand Canyon of theColorado. My eye swept along with that winding mark, farther andfarther to the west, until the cleft, growing larger and closer, revealed itself as a wild and winding canyon. Still farther westwardit split a vast plateau of red peaks and yellow mesas. Here the canyonwas full of purple smoke. It turned, it closed, it gaped, it lostitself and showed again in that chaos of a million cliffs. And then itfaded, a mere purple line, into deceiving distance. 

I imagined there was no scene in all the world to equal this. Thetranquillity of lesser spaces was here not manifest. This happened tobe a place where so much of the desert could be seen and the effectwas stupendous Sound, movement, life seemed to have no fitness here. Ruin was there and desolation and decay. The meaning of the ageswas flung at me. A man became nothing. But when I gazed across thatsublime and majestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was only adim line, I strangely lost my terror and something came to me acrossthe shining spaces. 

Then Nas ta Bega and Wetherill began the descent of the slope, and therest of us followed. No sign of a trail showed where the base of theslope rolled out to meet the green plain. There was a level bench amile wide, then a ravine, and then an ascent, and after that, roundedridge and ravine, one after the other, like huge swells of a monstroussea. Indian paint brush vied in its scarlet hue with the deep magentaof cactus. There was no sage. Soap weed and meager grass and a bunchof cactus here and there lent the green to that barren, and it wasgreen only at a distance. 

Nas ta Bega kept on at a steady gait. The sun climbed. The wind roseand whipped dust from under the mustangs. There is seldom much talkon a ride of this nature. It is hard work and everybody for himself. Besides, it is enough just to see; and that country is conducive tosilence. I looked back often, and the farther out on the plain we rodethe higher loomed the plateau we had descended; and as I faced aheadagain, the lower sank the red-domed and castled horizon to the fore. 

It was a wild place we were approaching. I saw piņon patches underthe circled walls. I ceased to feel the dry wind in my face. We werealready in the lee of a wall. I saw the rock squirrels scampering totheir holes. Then the Indians disappeared between two rounded cornersof cliff. 

I rode round the corner into a widening space thick with cedars. Itended in a bare slope of smooth rock. Here we dismounted to begin theascent. It was smooth and hard, though not slippery. There was nota crack. I did not see a broken piece of stone. Nas ta Bega andWetherill climbed straight up for a while and then wound round aswell, to turn this way and that, always going up. I began to seesimilar mounds of rock all around me, of every shape that could becalled a curve. There were yellow domes far above and small red domesfar below. Ridges ran from one hill of rock to another. There wereno abrupt breaks, but holes and pits and caves were everywhere, andoccasionally deep down, an amphitheater green with cedar and piņon. Wefound no vestige of trail on those bare slopes. 

Our guides led to the top of the wall, only to disclose to us anotherwall beyond, with a ridged, bare, and scalloped depression between. Here footing began to be precarious for both man and beast. Ourmustangs were not shod and it was wonderful to see their slow, short, careful steps. They knew a great deal better than we what the dangerwas. It has been such experiences as this that have made me see inhorses something besides beasts of burden. In the ascent of the secondslope it was necessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, takingadvantage of every bulge and depression. 

Then before us twisted and dropped and curved the most dangerousslopes I had ever seen. We had reached the height of the divide andmany of the drops on this side were perpendicular and too steep for usto see the bottom. 

[Illustration: THIS IMMENSE CAVE WOULD HOLD TRINITY CHURCH. IN IT LIESTHE RUINED CLIFF DWELLING CALLED BETATAKIN]

At one bad place Wetherill and Nas ta Bega, with Joe Lee, a Mormoncowboy with us, were helping one of the pack-horses named Chub. On thesteepest part of this slope Chub fell and began to slide. His momentumjerked the rope from the hands of Wetherill and the Indian. But JoeLee held on. Joe was a giant and being a Mormon he could not let go ofanything he had. He began to slide with the horse, holding back withall his might. 

[Illustration: THE WIND-WORN TREACHEROUS SLOPES ON THE WAY TONONNEZOSHE]

It seemed that both man and beast must slide down to where the slopeended in a yawning precipice. Chub was snorting or screaming interror. Our mustangs were frightened and rearing. It was not a placeto have trouble with horses. 

I had a moment of horrified fascination, in which Chub turned clearover. Then he slid into a little depression that, with Joe's hold onthe lasso, momentarily checked his descent. Quick as thought Joe ransidewise and down to the bulge of rock, and yelled for help. I gotto him a little ahead of Wetherill and Nas ta Bega; and together wepulled Chub up out of danger. At first we thought he had been chokedto death. But he came to, and got up, a bloody, skinned horse, butalive and safe. I have never seen a more magnificent effort than JoeLee's. Those fellows are built that way. Wetherill has lost horses onthose treacherous slopes, and that risk is the only thing about thetrip which is not splendid. 

We got over that bad place without further incident, and presentlycame to a long swell of naked stone that led down to a narrow greensplit. This one had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It wasthe head of a canyon. 

"Nonnezoshe Boco, " said the Indian. 

This then was the Canyon of the Rainbow Bridge. When we got down intoit we were a happy crowd. The mode of travel here was a selection ofthe best levels, the best places to cross the brook, the best placesto climb, and it was a process of continual repetition. There was notrail ahead of us, but we certainly left one behind. And as Wetherillpicked out the course and the mustangs followed him I had all freedomto see and feel the beauty, color, wildness and changing character ofNonnezoshe Boco. 

My experiences in the desert did not count much in the trip down thisstrange, beautiful lost canyon. All canyons are not alike. This onedid not widen, though the walls grew higher. They began to lean andbulge, and the narrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blueriver. Huge caverns had been hollowed out by water or wind. And whenthe brook ran close under one of these overhanging places the runningwater made a singular indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on astone rang like a hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall. And thecroak of a frog--the only living creature I noted in the canyon--was aweird and melancholy thing. 

"We're sure gettin' deep down, " said Joe Lee. 

"How do you know?" I asked. 

"Here are the pink and yellow sego lilies. Only the white ones arefound above. "

I dismounted to gather some of these lilies. They were larger thanthe white ones of higher altitudes, of a most exquisite beauty andfragility, and of such rare pink and yellow hues as I had never seen. 

"They bloom only where it's always summer, " explained Joe. 

That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summercanyons. They stood up everywhere star-like out of the green. It wasimpossible to prevent the mustangs treading them under foot. And asthe canyon deepened, and many little springs added their tiny volumeto the brook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a greensky star-spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itselfin the banks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies andgreat mounds of yellow violets. The brook was lined by blossomingbuck-brush; the rocky corners showed the crimson and magenta ofcactus; and there were ledges of green with shining moss that sparkledwith little white flowers. The hum of bees filled the fragrant, dreamyair. 

But by and bye, this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almostlevel floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets andclumps of cottonwood, the shelving caverns and bulging walls--thesefeatures were gradually lost, and Nonnezoshe began to deepen in barered and white stone steps. The walls sheered away from one another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher and higher, andthere began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordance with thenature that had created this old rent in the earth. 

There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rockalternated with long levels of round boulders. Here, one by one, themustangs went lame and we had to walk. And we slipped and stumbledalong over these loose, treacherous stones. The hours passed; the toilincreased; the progress diminished; one of the mustangs failed and wasleft. And all the while the dimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnifiedand its character changed. It became a thousand-foot walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening, with great yellow slides blockingpassage, with huge sections split off from the main wall, with immensedark and gloomy caverns. Strangely it had no intersecting canyons. Itjealously guarded its secret. Its unusual formations of cavern andpillar and half-arch led me to expect any monstrous stone-shape leftby avalanche or cataclysm. 

Down and down we toiled. And now the stream-bed was bare of bouldersand the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled down that canyonhad here borne away every loose thing. All the floor, in places, wasbare red and white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affordingtreacherous foothold. And the time came when Wetherill abandoned thestream-bed to take to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges above. 

The canyon widened ahead into a great ragged iron-lined amphitheater, and then apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmed thewalls. 

I had been tired for a long time and now I began to limp and lag. Iwondered what on earth would make Wetherill and the Indians tired. Itwas with great pleasure that I observed the giant Joe Lee ploddingslowly along. And when I glanced behind at my straggling party it waswith both admiration for their gameness and glee for their disheveledand weary appearance. Finally I got so that all I could do was to dragmyself onward with eyes down on the rough ground. In this way I kepton until I heard Wetherill call me. He had stopped--was waiting forme. The dark and silent Indian stood beside him, looking down thecanyon. 

I saw past the vast jutting wall that had obstructed my view. A milebeyond, all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanning thecanyon in the graceful shape and beautiful hues of the rainbow was amagnificent natural bridge. 

"Nonnezoshe, " said Wetherill, simply. 

This rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon, the onegrand spectacle which I had ever seen that did not at first give vaguedisappointment, a confounding of reality, a disenchantment of contrastwith what the mind had conceived. 

But this thing was glorious. It absolutely silenced me. My body andbrain, weary and dull from the toil of travel, received a singular andrevivifying freshness. I had a strange, mystic perception that thisrosy-hued, tremendous arch of stone was a goal I had failed to reach insome former life, but had now found. Here was a rainbow magnified evenbeyond dreams, a thing not transparent and ethereal, but solidified, awork of ages, sweeping up majestically from the red walls, its iris-huedarch against the blue sky. 

[Illustration: FIRST SIGHT OF THE GREAT NATURAL BRIDGE]

[Illustration: NONNEZOSHE]

Then we plodded on again. Wetherill worked around to circle the hugeamphitheater. The way was a steep slant, rough and loose and dragging. The rocks were as hard and jagged as lava, and cactus hinderedprogress. Soon the rosy and golden lights had faded. All the wallsturned pale and steely and the bridge loomed dark. 

We were to camp all night under the bridge. Just before we reached itNas ta Bega halted with one of his singular motions. He was saying hisprayer to this great stone god. Then he began to climb straight up thesteep slope. Wetherill told me the Indian would not pass under thearch. 

When we got to the bridge and unsaddled and unpacked the lame mustangstwilight had fallen. The horses were turned loose to fare for whatscant grass grew on bench and slope. Firewood was even harder tofind than grass. When our simple meal had been eaten there was gloomgathering in the canyon and stars had begun to blink in the pale stripof blue above the lofty walls. The place was oppressive and we weremostly silent. 

Presently I moved away into the strange dark shadow cast by thebridge. It was a weird black belt, where I imagined I was invisible, but out of which I could see. There was a slab of rock upon which Icomposed myself, to watch, to feel. 

A stiffening of my neck made me aware that I had been continuallylooking up at the looming arch. I found that it never seemed the sameany two moments. Near at hand it was too vast a thing for immediatecomprehension. I wanted to ponder on what had formed it--to reflectupon its meaning as to age and force of nature. Yet it seemed that allI could do was to see. White stars hung along the dark curvedline. The rim of the arch appeared to shine. The moon was up theresomewhere. The far side of the canyon was now a blank black wall. Overits towering rim showed a pale glow. It brightened. The shades in thecanyon lightened, then a white disk of moon peeped over the dark line. The bridge turned to silver. 

It was then that I became aware of the presence of Nas ta Bega. Dark, silent, statuesque, with inscrutable face uplifted, with all that wasspiritual of the Indian suggested by a somber and tranquil knowledgeof his place there, he represented to me that which a solitary figureof human life represents in a great painting. Nonnezoshe needed life, wild life, life of its millions of years--and here stood the dark andsilent Indian. 

Long afterward I walked there alone, to and fro, under the bridge. Themoon had long since crossed the streak of star-fired blue above, andthe canyon was black in shadow. At times a current of wind, with allthe strangeness of that strange country in its moan, rushed throughthe great stone arch. At other times there was silence such as Iimagined might have dwelt deep in the center of the earth. And againan owl hooted, and the sound was nameless. It had a mocking echo. Anecho of night, silence, gloom, melancholy, death, age, eternity!

The Indian lay asleep with his dark face upturned, and the othersleepers lay calm and white in the starlight. I seemed to see in themthe meaning of life and the past--the illimitable train of facesthat had shone under the stars. There was something nameless in thatcanyon, and whether or not it was what the Indian embodied in thegreat Nonnezoshe, or the life of the present, or the death of theages, or the nature so magnificently manifested in those silent, dreaming, waiting walls--the truth was that there was a spirit. 

I did sleep a few hours under Nonnezoshe, and when I awoke the tip ofthe arch was losing its cold darkness and beginning to shine. The sunhad just risen high enough over some low break in the wall to reachthe bridge. I watched. Slowly, in wondrous transformation, the goldand blue and rose and pink and purple blended their hues, softly, mistily, cloudily, until once more the arch was a rainbow. 

I realized that long before life had evolved upon the earth thisbridge had spread its grand arch from wall to wall, black and mysticat night, transparent and rosy in the sunrise, at sunset a flamingcurve limned against the heavens. When the race of man had passed itwould, perhaps, stand there still. It was not for many eyes to see. The tourist, the leisurely traveler, the comfort-loving motorist wouldnever behold it. Only by toil, sweat, endurance and pain could anyman ever look at Nonnezoshe. It seemed well to realize that the greatthings of life had to be earned. Nonnezoshe would always be alone, grand, silent, beautiful, unintelligible; and as such I bade it amute, reverent farewell. 

CHAPTER II

COLORADO TRAILS

Riding and tramping trails would lose half their charm if the motivewere only to hunt and to fish. It seems fair to warn the reader wholongs to embark upon a bloody game hunt or a chronicle of fishingrecords that this is not that kind of story. But it will be one forthose who love horses and dogs, the long winding dim trails, the wildflowers and the dark still woods, the fragrance of spruce and thesmell of camp-fire smoke. And as well for those who love to angle inbrown lakes or rushing brooks or chase after the baying hounds orstalk the stag on his lonely heights. 

[Illustration: PACK HORSES ON A SAGE SLOPE IN COLORADO]

We left Denver on August twenty-second over the Moffet road and had along wonderful ride through the mountains. The Rockies have a sweep, alimitless sweep, majestic and grand. For many miles we crossed nostreams, and climbed and wound up barren slopes. Once across the divide, however, we descended into a country of black forests and green valleys. Yampa, a little hamlet with a past prosperity, lay in the wide valley ofthe Bear River. It was picturesque but idle, and a better name for itwould have been Sleepy Hollow. The main and only street was very wideand dusty, bordered by old board walks and vacant stores. It seemed adeserted street of a deserted village. Teague, the guide, lived there. He assured me it was not quite as lively a place as in the early dayswhen it was a stage center for an old and rich mining section. We stayedthere at the one hotel for a whole day, most of which I spent sitting onthe board walk. Whenever I chanced to look down the wide street itseemed always the same--deserted. But Yampa had the charm of being oldand forgotten, and for that reason I would like to live there a while. 

[Illustration: THE GRASSY UPLANDS, WITH WHITELEY'S PEAK IN THEDISTANCE]

On August twenty-third we started in two buckboards for the foothills, some fifteen miles westward, where Teague's men were to meet us withsaddle and pack horses. The ride was not interesting until the FlattopMountains began to loom, and we saw the dark green slopes of spruce, rising to bare gray cliffs and domes, spotted with white banks ofsnow. I felt the first cool breath of mountain air, exhilarating andsweet. From that moment I began to live. 

We had left at six-thirty. Teague, my guide, had been so rushed withhis manifold tasks that I had scarcely seen him, let alone gottenacquainted with him. And on this ride he was far behind with our loadof baggage. We arrived at the edge of the foothills about noon. Itappeared to be the gateway of a valley, with aspen groves and raggedjack-pines on the slopes, and a stream running down. Our driver calledit the Stillwater. That struck me as strange, for the stream was ina great hurry. R. C. Spied trout in it, and schools of darkish, mullet-like fish which we were informed were grayling. We wished forour tackle then and for time to fish. 

Teague's man, a young fellow called Virgil, met us here. He did notresemble the ancient Virgil in the least, but he did look as if he hadwalked right out of one of my romances of wild riders. So I took aliking to him at once. 

But the bunch of horses he had corralled there did not excite anydelight in me. Horses, of course, were the most important part of ouroutfit. And that moment of first seeing the horses that were to carryus on such long rides was an anxious and thrilling one. I have feltit many times, and it never grows any weaker from experience. Many ascrubby lot of horses had turned out well upon acquaintance, and someI had found hard to part with at the end of trips. Up to that time, however, I had not seen a bear hunter's horses; and I was muchconcerned by the fact that these were a sorry looking outfit, dusty, ragged, maneless, cut and bruised and crippled. Still, I reflected, they were bunched up so closely that I could not tell much about them, and I decided to wait for Teague before I chose a horse for any one. 

In an hour Teague trotted up to our resting place. Beside his ownmount he had two white saddle horses, and nine pack-animals, heavilyladen. Teague was a sturdy rugged man with bronzed face and keengray-blue eyes, very genial and humorous. Straightway I got theimpression that he liked work. 

"Let's organize, " he said, briskly. "Have you picked the horses you'regoin' to ride?"

Teague led from the midst of that dusty kicking bunch a rangy powerfulhorse, with four white feet, a white face and a noble head. He hadescaped my eye. I felt thrillingly that here at least was one horse. 

The rest of the horses were permanently crippled or temporarily lame, and I had no choice, except to take the one it would be kindest toride. 

"He ain't much like your Silvermane or Black Star, " said Teague, laughing. 

"What do you know about them?" I asked, very much pleased at this fromhim. 

"Well, I know all about them, " he replied. "I'll have you the best horsein this country in a few days. Fact is I've bought him, an' he'll comewith my cowboy, Vern. .. . Now, we're organized. Let's move. "

[Illustration: A SPRUCE-SHADED, FLOWER-SKIRTED LAKE]

[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN UPON CLOUD-FILLED VALLEYS]

[Illustration: SEARCHING BURNED-OVER RANGES FOR GAME]

We rode through a meadow along a spruce slope above which towered thegreat mountain. It was a zigzag trail, rough, boggy, and steep inplaces. The Stillwater meandered here, and little breaks on the watergave evidence of feeding trout. We had several miles of meadow, andthen sheered off to the left up into the timber. It was a spruceforest, very still and fragrant. We climbed out up on a bench, andacross a flat, up another bench, out of the timber into the patches ofsnow. Here snow could be felt in the air. Water was everywhere. I sawa fox, a badger, and another furry creature, too illusive to name. Onemore climb brought us to the top of the Flattop Pass, about eleventhousand feet. The view in the direction from which we had come wassplendid, and led the eye to the distant sweeping ranges, dark and dimalong the horizon. The Flattops were flat enough, but not very wideat this pass, and we were soon going down again into a green gulfof spruce, with ragged peaks lifting beyond. Here again I got thesuggestion of limitless space. It took us an hour to ride down toLittle Trappers Lake, a small clear green sheet of water. The largerlake was farther down. It was big, irregular, and bordered by spruceforests, and shadowed by the lofty gray peaks. 

The Camp was on the far side. The air appeared rather warm, andmosquitoes bothered us. However, they did not stay long. It was aftersunset and I was too tired to have many impressions. 

Our cook appeared to be a melancholy man. He had a deep quaveringvoice, a long drooping mustache and sad eyes. He was silent most ofthe time. The men called him Bill, and yelled when they spoke, for hewas somewhat deaf. It did not take me long to discover that he was agood cook. 

Our tent was pitched down the slope from the cook tent. We were tootired to sit round a camp-fire and talk. The stars were white andsplendid, and they hung over the flat ridges like great beacon lights. The lake appeared to be inclosed on three sides by amphitheatricmountains, black with spruce up to the gray walls of rock. The nightgrew cold and very still. The bells on the horses tinkled distantly. There was a soft murmur of falling water. A lonesome coyote barked, and that thrilled me. Teague's dogs answered this prowler, and some ofthem had voices to make a hunter thrill. One, the bloodhound Cain, hada roar like a lion's. I had not gotten acquainted with the hounds, andI was thinking about them when I fell asleep. 

Next morning I was up at five-thirty. The air was cold and nipping andfrost shone on grass and sage. A red glow of sunrise gleamed on thetip of the mountain and slowly grew downward. 

The cool handle of an axe felt good. I soon found, however, that Icould not wield it long for lack of breath. The elevation was close toten thousand feet and the air at that height was thin and rare. Aftereach series of lusty strokes I had to rest. R. C. , who could handlean axe as he used to swing a baseball bat, made fun of my efforts. Whereupon I relinquished the tool to him, and chuckled at hisdiscomfiture. 

After breakfast R. C. And I got out our tackles and rigged up fly rods, and sallied forth to the lake with the same eagerness we had felt whenwe were boys going after chubs and sunfish. The lake glistened greenin the sunlight and it lay like a gem at the foot of the magnificentblack slopes. 

The water was full of little floating particles that Teague calledwild rice. I thought the lake had begun to work, like eastern lakesduring dog days. It did not look propitious for fishing, but Teaguereassured us. The outlet of this lake was the head of White River. Wetried the outlet first, but trout were not rising there. Then webegan wading and casting along a shallow bar of the lake. Teague hadinstructed us to cast, then drag the flies slowly across the surfaceof the water, in imitation of a swimming fly or bug. I tried this, andseveral times, when the leader was close to me and my rod far back, Ihad strikes. With my rod in that position I could not hook the trout. Then I cast my own way, letting the flies sink a little. To mysurprise and dismay I had only a few strikes and could not hook thefish. 

R. C. , however, had better luck, and that too in wading right over theground I had covered. To beat me at anything always gave him the mostunaccountable fiendish pleasure. 

"These are educated trout, " he said. "It takes a skillful fisherman tomake them rise. Now anybody can catch the big game of the sea, whichis your forte. But here you are N. G. .. . Watch me cast!"

I watched him make a most atrocious cast. But the water boiled, and hehooked two good-sized trout at once. Quite speechless with envy andadmiration I watched him play them and eventually beach them. Theywere cutthroat trout, silvery-sided and marked with the red slashalong their gills that gave them their name. I did not catch any whilewading, but from the bank I spied one, and dropping a fly in frontof his nose, I got him. R. C. Caught four more, all about a pound inweight, and then he had a strike that broke his leader. He did nothave another leader, so we walked back to camp. 

Wild flowers colored the open slopes leading down out of the forest. Golden rod, golden daisies, and bluebells were plentiful and verypretty. Here I found my first columbine, the beautiful flower that isthe emblem of Colorado. In vivid contrast to its blue, Indian paintbrush thinly dotted the slopes and varied in color from red to pinkand from white to yellow. 

My favorite of all wild flowers--the purple asters--were there too, on tall nodding stems, with pale faces held up to the light. Thereflection of mountain and forest in Trappers Lake was clear andbeautiful. 

The hounds bayed our approach to camp. We both made a great show aboutbeginning our little camp tasks, but we did not last very long. Thesun felt so good and it was so pleasant to lounge under a pine. One ofthe blessings of outdoor life was that a man could be like an Indianand do nothing. So from rest I passed to dreams and from dreams tosleep. 

In the afternoon R. C. And I went out again to try for trout. The lakeappeared to be getting thicker with that floating muck and we couldnot raise a fish. Then we tried the outlet again. Here the currentwas swift. I found a place between two willow banks where trout werebreaking on the surface. It took a long cast for me, but about everytenth attempt I would get a fly over the right place and raise a fish. They were small, but that did not detract from my gratification. Thelight on the water was just right for me to see the trout rise, andthat was a beautiful sight as well as a distinct advantage. I hadcaught four when a shout from R. C. Called me quickly down stream. Ifound him standing in the middle of a swift chute with his rod bentdouble and a long line out. 

"Got a whale!" he yelled. "See him--down there--in that white water. See him flash red!. .. Go down there and land him for me. Hurry! He'sgot all the line!"

I ran below to an open place in the willows. Here the stream wasshallow and very swift. In the white water I caught a flashing gleamof red. Then I saw the shine of the leader. But I could not reach itwithout wading in. When I did this the trout lunged out. He lookedcrimson and silver. I could have put my fist in his mouth. 

"Grab the leader! Yank him out!" yelled R. C. In desperation. "There!He's got all the line. "

"But it'd be better to wade down, " I yelled back. 

He shouted that the water was too deep and for me to save his fish. This was an awful predicament for me. I knew the instant I graspedthe leader that the big trout would break it or pull free. The samesituation, with different kinds of fish, had presented itself manytimes on my numberless fishing jaunts with R. C. And they all crowdedto my mind. Nevertheless I had no choice. Plunging in to my knees Ifrantically reached for the leader. The red trout made a surge. Imissed him. R. C. Yelled that something would break. That was no newsto me. Another plunge brought me in touch with the leader. Then Iessayed to lead the huge cutthroat ashore. He was heavy. But he wastired and that gave birth to hopes. Near the shore as I was about tolift him he woke up, swam round me twice, then ran between my legs. 

When, a little later, R. C. Came panting down stream I was sitting onthe bank, all wet, with one knee skinned and I was holding his brokenleader in my hands. Strange to say, he went into a rage! Blamed me forthe loss of that big trout! Under such circumstances it was alwaysbest to maintain silence and I did so as long as I could. After hisparoxysm had spent itself and he had become somewhat near a rationalbeing once more he asked me:

"Was he big?"

"Oh--a whale of a trout!" I replied. 

"Humph! Well, how big?"

Thereupon I enlarged upon the exceeding size and beauty of that trout. I made him out very much bigger than he actually looked to me and Iminutely described his beauty and wonderful gaping mouth. R. C. Groanedand that was my revenge. 

We returned to camp early, and I took occasion to scrape acquaintancewith the dogs. It was a strangely assorted pack--four Airedales, onebloodhound and seven other hounds of mixed breeds. There were alsothree pup hounds, white and yellow, very pretty dogs, and like allpups, noisy and mischievous. They made friends easily. This appliedalso to one of the Airedales, a dog recently presented to Teague bysome estimable old lady who had called him Kaiser and made a pet ofhim. As might have been expected of a dog, even an Airedale, with thatname, he was no good. But he was very affectionate, and exceedinglyfunny. When he was approached he had a trick of standing up, holdingup his forepaws in an appealing sort of way, with his head twisted inthe most absurd manner. This was when he was chained--otherwise hewould have been climbing up on anyone who gave him the chance. He wasthe most jealous dog I ever saw. He could not be kept chained verylong because he always freed himself. At meal time he would slipnoiselessly behind some one and steal the first morsel he couldsnatch. Bill was always rapping Kaiser with pans or billets offirewood. 

Next morning was clear and cold. We had breakfast, and then saddled upto ride to Big Fish Lake. For an hour we rode up and down ridges ofheavy spruce, along a trail. We saw elk and deer sign. Elk tracksappeared almost as large as cow tracks. When we left the trail toclimb into heavy timber we began to look for game. The forest wasdark, green and brown, silent as a grave. No squirrels or birds orsign of life! We had a hard ride up and down steep slopes. A featurewas the open swaths made by avalanches. The ice and snow had cut apath through the timber, and the young shoots of spruce were springingup. I imagined the roar made by that tremendous slide. 

We found elk tracks everywhere and some fresh sign, where the grasshad been turned recently, and also much old and fresh sign where theelk had skinned the saplings by rubbing their antlers to get rid ofthe velvet. Some of these rubs looked like blazes made by an axe. TheAiredale Fox, a wonderful dog, routed out a she-coyote that evidentlyhad a den somewhere, for she barked angrily at the dog and at us. Foxcould not catch her. She led him round in a circle, and we could notsee her in the thick brush. It was fine to hear the wild staccato noteagain. 

We crossed many little parks, bright and green, blooming with wildasters and Indian paint brush and golden daisies. The patches of redand purple were exceedingly beautiful. Everywhere we rode we were kneedeep in flowers. At length we came out of the heavy timber down uponBig Fish Lake. This lake was about half a mile across, deep blue-greenin color, with rocky shores. Upon the opposite side were beavermounds. We could see big trout swimming round, but they would not riseto a fly. R. C. Went out in an old boat and paddled to the head of thelake and fished at the inlet. Here he caught a fine trout. I wentaround and up the little river that fed the lake. It curved swiftlythrough a meadow, and had deep, dark eddies under mossy, floweringbanks. At other places the stream ran swiftly over clean gravel beds. It was musical and clear as crystal, and to the touch of hand, as coldas ice water. I waded in and began to cast. I saw several big trout, and at last coaxed one to take my fly. But I missed him. Then in aswift current a flash of red caught my eye and I saw a big troutlazily rise to my fly. Saw him take it! And I hooked him. He was notactive, but heavy and plunging, and he bored in and out, and madeshort runs. I had not seen such beautiful red colors in any fish. Hemade a fine fight, but at last I landed him on the grass, a cutthroatof about one and three-quarter pounds, deep red and silver and green, and spotted all over. That was the extent of my luck. 

We went back to the point, and thought we would wait a little while tosee if the trout would begin to rise. But they did not. A storm beganto mutter and boom along the battlements. Great gray clouds obscuredthe peaks, and at length the rain came. It was cold and cutting. Wesought the shelter of spruces for a while, and waited. After an hourit cleared somewhat, and R. C. Caught a fine one-pound cutthroat, allgreen and silver, with only two slashes of red along under the gills. Then another storm threatened. Before we got ready to leave for campthe rain began again to fall, and we looked for a wetting. It wasraining hard when we rode into the woods and very cold. The spruceswere dripping. But we soon got warm from hard riding up steep slopes. After an hour the rain ceased, the sun came out, and from the openplaces high up we could see a great green void of spruce, and beyond, boundless black ranges, running off to dim horizon. We flushed a bigblue grouse with a brood of little ones, and at length another bigone. 

In one of the open parks the Airedale Fox showed signs of scentinggame. There was a patch of ground where the grass was pressed down. Teague whispered and pointed. I saw the gray rump of an elk protrudingfrom behind some spruces. I beckoned for R. C. And we both dismounted. Just then the elk rose and stalked out. It was a magnificent bull withcrowning lofty antlers. The shoulders and neck appeared black. Heraised his head, and turning, trotted away with ease and grace forsuch a huge beast. That was a wild and beautiful sight I had not seenbefore. We were entranced, and when he disappeared, we burst out withexclamations. 

We rode on toward camp, and out upon a bench that bordered the loftyred wall of rock. From there we went down into heavy forest again, dimand gray, with its dank, penetrating odor, and oppressive stillness. The forest primeval! When we rode out of that into open slopes theafternoon was far advanced, and long shadows lay across the distantranges. When we reached camp, supper and a fire to warm cold wet feetwere exceedingly welcome. I was tired. 

Later, R. C. And I rode up a mile or so above camp, and hitched ourhorses near Teague's old corral. Our intention was to hunt up alongthe side of the slope. Teague came along presently. We waited, hopingthe big black clouds would break. But they did not. They rolled downwith gray, swirling edges, like smoke, and a storm enveloped us. Wesought shelter in a thick spruce. It rained and hailed. By and byethe air grew bitterly cold, and Teague suggested we give up, and rideback. So we did. The mountains were dim and obscure through the graygloom, and the black spear-tipped spruces looked ghostly againstthe background. The lightning was vivid, and the thunder rolled andcrashed in magnificent bombardment across the heavens. 

Next morning at six-thirty the sun was shining clear, and only afew clouds sailed in the blue. Wind was in the west and the weatherpromised fair. But clouds began to creep up behind the mountains, first hazy, then white, then dark. Nevertheless we decided to rideout, and cross the Flattop rim, and go around what they call theChinese Wall. It rained as we climbed through the spruces above LittleTrappers Lake. And as we got near the top it began to hail. Againthe air grew cold. Once out on top I found a wide expanse, green andwhite, level in places, but with huge upheavals of ridge. Therewere flowers here at eleven thousand feet. The view to the rear wasimpressive--a wide up-and-down plain studded with out-cropping ofrocks, and patches of snow. We were then on top of the Chinese Wall, and the view to the west was grand. At the moment hail was fallingthick and white, and to stand above the streaked curtain, as it fellinto the abyss was a strange new experience. Below, two thousand feet, lay the spruce forest, and it sloped and dropped into the White RiverValley, which in turn rose, a long ragged dark-green slope, up to abare jagged peak. Beyond this stretched range on range, dark under thelowering pall of clouds. On top we found fresh Rocky Mountain sheeptracks. A little later, going into a draw, we crossed a snow-bank, solid as ice. We worked down into this draw into the timber. Ithailed, and rained some more, then cleared. The warm sun felt good. Once down in the parks we began to ride through a flower-garden. Everyslope was beautiful in gold, and red, and blue and white. These parkswere luxuriant with grass, and everywhere we found elk beds, where thegreat stags had been lying, to flee at our approach. But we did notsee one. The bigness of this slope impressed me. We rode miles andmiles, and every park was surrounded by heavy timber. At length wegot into a burned district where the tall dead spruces stood sear andghastly, and the ground was so thickly strewn with fallen trees thatwe had difficulty in threading a way through them. Patches of aspengrew on the hillside, still fresh and green despite this frostymorning. Here we found a sego lily, one of the most beautiful offlowers. Here also I saw pink Indian paint brush. At the foot of thislong burned slope we came to the White River trail, and followed it upand around to camp. 

Late in the evening, about sunset, I took my rifle and slipped offinto the woods back of camp. I walked a short distance, then paused tolisten to the silence of the forest. There was not a sound. It was aplace of peace. By and bye I heard snapping of twigs, and presentlyheard R. C. And Teague approaching me. We penetrated half a mile intothe spruce, pausing now and then to listen. At length R. C. Heardsomething. We stopped. After a little I heard the ring of a horn onwood. It was thrilling. Then came the crack of a hoof on stone, thenthe clatter of a loosened rock. We crept on. But that elk or deerevaded us. We hunted around till dark without farther sign of anygame. 

R. C. And Teague and I rode out at seven-thirty and went down WhiteRiver for three miles. In one patch of bare ground we saw tracks offive deer where they had come in for salt. Then we climbed high up aburned ridge, winding through patches of aspen. We climbed ridge afterridge, and at last got out of the burned district into reaches ofheavy spruce. Coming to a park full of deer and elk tracks, wedismounted and left our horses. I went to the left, and into somebeautiful woods, where I saw beds of deer or elk, and many tracks. Returning to the horses, I led them into a larger park, and climbedhigh into the open and watched. There I saw some little squirrelsabout three inches long, and some gray birds, very tame. I waited along time before there was any sign of R. C. Or Teague, and then it wasthe dog I saw first. I whistled, and they climbed up to me. We mountedand rode on for an hour, then climbed through a magnificent forest ofhuge trees, windfalls, and a ferny, mossy, soft ground. At length wecame out at the head of a steep, bare slope, running down to a verdantpark crossed by stretches of timber. On the way back to camp we ranacross many elk beds and deer trails, and for a while a small band ofelk evidently trotted ahead of us, but out of sight. 

Next day we started for a few days' trip to Big Fish Lake. R. C. And Iwent along up around the mountain. I found our old trail, and was at aloss only a few times. We saw fresh elk sign, but no live game at all. 

In the afternoon we fished. I went up the river half a mile, whileR. C. Fished the lake. Neither of us had any luck. Later we caught fourtrout, one of which was fair sized. 

Toward sunset the trout began to rise all over the lake, but we couldnot get them to take a fly. 

The following day we went up to Twin Lakes and found them to bebeautiful little green gems surrounded by spruce. I saw some big troutin the large lake, but they were wary. We tried every way to get astrike. No use! In the little lake matters were worse. It was full oftrout up to two pounds. They would run at the fly, only to refuse it. Exasperating work! We gave up and returned to Big Fish. After supperwe went out to try again. The lake was smooth and quiet. All at once, as if by concert, the trout began to rise everywhere. In a little baywe began to get strikes. I could see the fish rise to the fly. Thesmall ones were too swift and the large ones too slow, it seemed. We caught one, and then had bad luck. We snarled our lines, driftedwrong, broke leaders, snapped off flies, hooked too quick and tooslow, and did everything that was clumsy. I lost two big fish becausethey followed the fly as I drew it toward me across the water toimitate a swimming fly. Of course this made a large slack line which Icould not get up. Finally I caught one big fish, and altogether we gotseven. All in that little bay, where the water was shallow! In otherplaces we could not catch a fish. I had one vicious strike. The fishappeared to be feeding on a tiny black gnat, which we could notimitate. This was the most trying experience of all. We ought to havecaught a basketful. 

The next day, September first, we rode down along the outlet of BigFish to White River and down that for miles to fish for grayling. Thestream was large and swift and cold. It appeared full of ice waterand rocks, but no fish. We met fishermen, an automobile, and a campoutfit. That was enough for me. Where an automobile can run, I do notbelong. The fishing was poor. But the beautiful open valley, floweredin gold and purple, was recompense for a good deal of bad luck. 

A grayling, or what they called a grayling, was not as beautiful afish as my fancy had pictured. He resembled a sucker or mullet, had asmall mouth, dark color, and was rather a sluggish-looking fish. 

We rode back through a thunderstorm, and our yellow slickers affordedmuch comfort. 

Next morning was bright, clear, cold. I saw the moon go down over amountain rim rose-flushed with the sunrise. 

R. C. And I, with Teague, started for the top of the big mountain onthe west. I had a new horse, a roan, and he looked a thoroughbred. He appeared tired. But I thought he would be great. We took a trailthrough the woods, dark green-gray, cool and verdant, odorous andstill. We began to climb. Occasionally we crossed parks, and littlestreams. Up near the long, bare slope the spruce trees grew large andfar apart. They were beautiful, gray as if bearded with moss. Beyondthis we got into the rocks and climbing became arduous. Long zigzagsup the slope brought us to the top of a notch, where at the right laya patch of snow. The top of the mountain was comparatively flat, butit had timbered ridges and bare plains and little lakes, with darkdomes, rising beyond. We rode around to the right, climbing out of thetimber to where the dwarf spruces and brush had a hard struggle forlife. The great gulf below us was immense, dark, and wild, studdedwith lakes and parks, and shadowed by moving clouds. 

Sheep tracks, old and fresh, afforded us thrills. 

Away on the western rim, where we could look down upon a long ruggediron-gray ridge of mountain, our guide using the glass, found two bigstags. We all had our fill of looking. I could see them plainly withnaked eyes. 

We decided to go back to where we could climb down on that side, halter the horses, leave all extra accoutrements, and stalk thosestags, and take a picture of them. 

I led the way, and descended under the rim. It was up and down overrough shale, and up steps of broken rocks, and down little cliffs. We crossed the ridge twice, many times having to lend a hand to eachother. 

At length I reached a point where I could see the stags lying down. The place was an open spot on a rocky promonotory with a fringe oflow spruces. The stags were magnificent in size, with antlers in thevelvet. One had twelve points. They were lying in the sun to hardentheir horns, according to our guide. 

I slipped back to the others, and we all decided to have a look. So weclimbed up. All of us saw the stags, twitching ears and tails. 

Then we crept back, and once more I took the lead to crawl round underthe ledge so we could come up about even with them. Here I found thehardest going yet. I came to a wind-worn crack in the thin ledge, andfrom this I could just see the tips of the antlers. I beckoned theothers. Laboriously they climbed. R. C. Went through first. I went overnext, and then came Teague. 

R. C. And I started to crawl down to a big rock that was our objectivepoint. We went cautiously, with bated breath and pounding hearts. Whenwe got there I peeped over to see the stags still lying down. But theyhad heads intent and wary. Still I did not think they had scented us. R. C. Took a peep, and turning excitedly he whispered:

"See only one. And he's standing!"

And I answered: "Let's get down around to the left where we can get abetter chance. " It was only a few feet down. We got there. 

When he peeped over at this point he exclaimed: "They're gone!"

It was a keen disappointment. "They winded us, " I decided. 

We looked and looked. But we could not see to our left because of thebulge of rock. We climbed back. Then I saw one of the stags lopingleisurely off to the left. Teague was calling. He said they had walkedoff the promontory, looking up, and stopping occasionally. 

Then we realized we must climb back along that broken ridge and thenup to the summit of the mountain. So we started. 

That climb back was proof of the effect of excitement on judgment. Wehad not calculated at all on the distance or ruggedness, and we had ajob before us. We got along well under the western wall, and fairlywell straight across through the long slope of timber, where we sawsheep tracks, and expected any moment to sight an old ram. But we didnot find one, and when we got out of the timber upon the bare slidingslope we had to halt a hundred times. We could zigzag only a fewsteps. The altitude was twelve thousand feet, and oxygen seemedscarce. I nearly dropped. All the climbing appeared to come hardest onthe middle of my right foot, and it could scarcely have burned hotterif it had been in fire. Despite the strenuous toil there were not manymoments that I was not aware of the vastness of the gulf below, or thepeaceful lakes, brown as amber, or the golden parks. And nearer athand I found magenta-colored Indian paint brush, very exquisite andrare. 

Coming out on a ledge I spied a little, dark animal with a long tail. He was running along the opposite promontory about three hundred yardsdistant. When he stopped I took a shot at him and missed by apparentlya scant half foot. 

After catching our breath we climbed more and more, and still more, atlast to drop on the rim, hot, wet and utterly spent. 

The air was keen, cold, and invigorating. We were soon rested, andfinding our horses we proceeded along the rim westward. Upon roundingan out-cropping of rock we flushed a flock of ptarmigan--soft gray, rock-colored birds about the size of pheasants, and when they flewthey showed beautiful white bands on their wings. These are the rarebirds that have feathered feet and turn white in winter. They did notfly far, and several were so tame they did not fly at all. We got ourlittle . 22 revolvers and began to shoot at the nearest bird. He wassome thirty feet distant. But we could not hit him, and at last Fox, getting disgusted, tried to catch the bird and made him fly. I feltrelieved, for as we were getting closer and closer with every shot, itseemed possible that if the ptarmigan sat there long enough we mighteventually have hit him. The mystery was why we shot so poorly. Butthis was explained by R. C. , who discovered we had been shooting thewrong shells. 

It was a long hard ride down the rough winding trail. But riding downwas a vastly different thing from going up. 

On September third we were up at five-thirty. It was clear and coldand the red of sunrise tinged the peaks. The snow banks looked pink. All the early morning scene was green, fresh, cool, with that mountainrareness of atmosphere. 

We packed to break camp, and after breakfast it took hours to get ouroutfit in shape to start--a long string, resembling a caravan. I knewthat events would occur that day. First we lost one of the dogs. Vernwent back after him. The dogs were mostly chained in pairs, to preventtheir running off. Samson, the giant hound, was chained to a littledog, and the others were paired not according to size by any means. The poor dogs were disgusted with the arrangement. It developedpresently that Cain, the bloodhound, a strange and wild hound muchlike Don of my old lion-hunting days, slipped us, and was not missedfor hours. Teague decided to send back for him later. 

Next in order of events, as we rode up the winding trail through thespruce forest, we met Teague's cow and calf, which he had kept allsummer in camp. For some reason neither could be left. Teague told usto ride on, and an hour later when we halted to rest on the FlattopMountain he came along with the rest of the train, and in the fore wasthe cow alone. It was evident that she was distressed and angry, forit took two men to keep her in the trail. And another thing plain tome was the fact that she was going to demoralize the pack horses. Wewere not across the wide range of this flat mountain when one of thepack animals, a lean and lanky sorrel, appeared suddenly to go mad, and began to buck off a pack. He succeeded. This inspired a blackhorse, very appropriately christened Nigger, to try his luck, and heshifted his pack in short order. It took patience, time, and effort torepack. The cow was a disorganizer. She took up as wide a trail as aroad. And the pack animals, some with dignity and others with disgust, tried to avoid her vicinity. Going down the steep forest trail onthe other side the real trouble began. The pack train split, ran andbolted, crashing through the trees, plunging down steep places, andjumping logs. It was a wild sort of chase. But luckily the packsremained intact until we were once more on open, flat ground. All wentwell for a while, except for an accident for which I was to blame. Ispurred my horse, and he plunged suddenly past R. C. 's mount, collidingwith him, tearing off my stirrup, and spraining R. C. 's ankle. Thiswas almost a serious accident, as R. C. Has an old baseball ankle thatrequired favoring. 

Next in order was the sorrel. As I saw it, he heedlessly went too nearthe cow, which we now called Bossy, and she acted somewhat like aSpanish Bull, to the effect that the sorrel was scared and angered atonce. He began to run and plunge and buck right into the other packanimals, dropping articles from his pack as he dashed along. Hestampeded the train, and gave the saddle horses a scare. When orderwas restored and the whole outfit gathered together again a fullhour had been lost. By this time all the horses were tired, and thatfacilitated progress, because there were no more serious breaks. 

Down in the valley it was hot, and the ride grew long and wearisome. Nevertheless, the scenery was beautiful. The valley was green andlevel, and a meandering stream formed many little lakes. On oneside was a steep hill of sage and aspens, and on the other a black, spear-pointed spruce forest, rising sheer to a bold, blunt peakpatched with snow-banks, and bronze and gray in the clear light. Hugewhite clouds sailed aloft, making dark moving shadows along the greatslopes. 

We reached our turning-off place about five o'clock, and again enteredthe fragrant, quiet forest--a welcome change. We climbed and climbed, at length coming into an open park of slopes and green borders offorest, with a lake in the center. We pitched camp on the skirt of thewestern slope, under the spruces, and worked hard to get the tents upand boughs cut for beds. Darkness caught us with our hands still full, and we ate supper in the light of a camp-fire, with the black, deepforest behind, and the pale afterglow across the lake. 

I had a bad night, being too tired to sleep well. Many times I saw themoon shadows of spruce branches trembling on the tent walls, and theflickering shadows of the dying camp-fire. I heard the melodioustinkle of the bells on the hobbled horses. Bossy bawled often--adiscordant break in the serenity of the night. Occasionally the houndsbayed her. 

Toward morning I slept some, and awakened with what seemed a brokenback. All, except R. C. , were slow in crawling out. The sun rose hot. This lower altitude was appreciated by all. After breakfast we set towork to put the camp in order. 

That afternoon we rode off to look over the ground. We crossed thepark and worked up a timbered ridge remarkable for mossy, bare ground, and higher up for its almost total absence of grass or flowers. On theother side of this we had a fine view of Mt. Dome, a high peak acrossa valley. Then we worked down into the valley, which was full of parksand ponds and running streams. We found some fresh sign of deer, and agood deal of old elk and deer sign. But we saw no game of any kind. Itwas a tedious ride back through thick forest, where I observed manytrees that had been barked by porcupines. Some patches were four feetfrom the ground, indicating that the porcupine had sat on the snowwhen he gnawed those particular places. 

After sunset R. C. And I went off down a trail into the woods, andsitting down under a huge spruce we listened. The forest was solemnand still. Far down somewhere roared a stream, and that was all thesound we heard. The gray shadows darkened and gloom penetrated theaisles of the forest, until all the sheltered places were black aspitch. The spruces looked spectral--and speaking. The silence ofthe woods was deep, profound, and primeval. It all worked on myimagination until I began to hear faint sounds, and finally grandorchestral crashings of melody. 

On our return the strange creeping chill, that must be a descendant ofthe old elemental fear, caught me at all obscure curves in the trail. 

[Illustration: A HUNTER'S CABIN ON A FROSTY MORNING]

Next day we started off early, and climbed through the woods and intothe parks under the Dome. We scared a deer that had evidently beendrinking. His fresh tracks led before us, but we could not catch aglimpse of him. 

[Illustration: THE TROUBLESOME COUNTRY, NOTED FOR GRIZZLY BEARS]

We climbed out of the parks, up onto the rocky ridges where thespruce grew scarce, and then farther to the jumble of stones that hadweathered from the great peaks above, and beyond that up the slopewhere all the vegetation was dwarfed, deformed, and weird, strangemanifestation of its struggle for life. Here the air grew keener andcooler, and the light seemed to expand. We rode on to the steep slopethat led up to the gap we were to cross between the Dome and itscompanion. 

[Illustration: UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE FLATTOP MOUNTAINS]

I saw a red fox running up the slope, and dismounting I took a quickshot at three hundred yards, and scored a hit. It turned out to be across fox, and had very pretty fur. 

When we reached the level of the deep gap the wind struck us hard andcold. On that side opened an abyss, gray and shelving as it led downto green timber, and then on to the yellow parks and black ridges thatgleamed under the opposite range. 

We had to work round a wide amphitheater, and up a steep corner to thetop. This turned out to be level and smooth for a long way, with ashort, velvety yellow grass, like moss, spotted with flowers. Here atthirteen thousand feet, the wind hit us with exceeding force, and soonhad us with freezing hands and faces. All about us were bold black andgray peaks, with patches of snow, and above them clouds of white anddrab, showing blue sky between. It developed that this grassy summitascended in a long gradual sweep, from the apex of which stretched agrand expanse, like a plain of gold, down and down, endlessly almost, and then up and up to end under a gray butte, highest of the pointsaround. The ride across here seemed to have no limit, but it wasbeautiful, though severe on endurance. I saw another fox, anddismounting, fired five shots as he ran, dusting him with threebullets. We rode out to the edge of the mountain and looked off. Itwas fearful, yet sublime. The world lay beneath us. In many places werode along the rim, and at last circled the great butte, and worked upbehind it on a swell of slope. Here the range ran west and the dropwas not sheer, but, gradual with fine benches for sheep. We found manytracks and fresh sign, but did not see one sheep. Meanwhile thehard wind had ceased, and the sun had come out, making the ridecomfortable, as far as weather was concerned. We had gotten a long wayfrom camp, and finding no trail to descend in that direction we turnedto retrace our steps. That was about one o'clock, and we rode and rodeand rode, until I was so tired that I could not appreciate the scenesas I had on the way up. It took six hours to get back to camp!

Next morning we took the hounds and rode off for bear. Eight of thehounds were chained in braces, one big and one little dog together, and they certainly had a hard time of it. Sampson, the giant gray andbrown hound, and Jim, the old black leader, were free to run to andfro across the way. We rode down a few miles, and into the forest. There were two long, black ridges, and here we were to hunt for bear. It was the hardest kind of work, turning and twisting between thetrees, dodging snags, and brushing aside branches, and guiding a horseamong fallen logs. The forest was thick, and the ground was a richbrown and black muck, soft to the horses' feet. Many times the houndsgot caught on snags, and had to be released. Once Sampson picked up ascent of some kind, and went off baying. Old Jim ran across that trailand returned, thus making it clear that there was no bear trail. Wepenetrated deep between the two ridges, and came to a little lake, about thirty feet wide, surrounded by rushes and grass. Here we restedthe horses, and incidentally, ourselves. Fox chased a duck, and itflew into the woods and hid under a log. Fox trailed it, and Teagueshot it just as he might have a rabbit. We got two more ducks, finebig mallards, the same way. It was amazing to me, and R. C. Remarkedthat never had he seen such strange and foolish ducks. 

This forest had hundreds of trees barked by porcupines, and some clearto the top. But we met only one of the animals, and he left severalquills in the nose of one of the pups. I was of the opinion that theseporcupines destroy many fine trees, as I saw a number barked allaround. 

We did not see any bear sign. On the way back to camp we rode out ofthe forest and down a wide valley, the opposite side of which was openslope with patches of alder. Even at a distance I could discern thecolor of these open glades and grassy benches. They had a tinge ofpurple, like purple sage. When I got to them I found a profusion ofasters of the most exquisite shades of lavender, pink and purple. Thatslope was long, and all the way up we rode through these beautifulwild flowers. I shall never forget that sight, nor the many astersthat shone like stars out of the green. The pink ones were new to me, and actually did not seem real. I noticed my horse occasionally nippeda bunch and ate them, which seemed to me almost as heartless as totread them under foot. 

When we got up the slope and into the woods again we met a storm, andtraveled for an hour in the rain, and under the dripping spruces, feeling the cold wet sting of swaying branches as we rode by. Then thesun came out bright and the forest glittered, all gold and green. Thesmell of the woods after a rain is indescribable. It combines a raretang of pine, spruce, earth and air, all refreshed. 

The day after, we left at eight o'clock, and rode down to the maintrail, and up that for five miles where we cut off to the left andclimbed into the timber. The woods were fresh and dewy, dark and cool, and for a long time we climbed bench after bench where the grass andferns and moss made a thick, deep cover. Farther up we got into fallentimber and made slow progress. At timber line we tied the horses andclimbed up to the pass between two great mountain ramparts. Sheeptracks were in evidence, but not very fresh. Teague and I climbed ontop and R. C. , with Vern, went below just along the timber line. Theclimb on foot took all my strength, and many times I had to halt forbreath. The air was cold. We stole along the rim and peered over. R. C. And Vern looked like very little men far below, and the dogs resembledmice. 

Teague climbed higher, and left me on a promontory, watching allaround. 

The cloud pageant was magnificent, with huge billowy white massesacross the valley, and to the west great black thunderheads rollingup. The wind began to blow hard, carrying drops of rain that stung, and the air was nipping cold. I felt aloof from all the crowded world, alone on the windy heights, with clouds and storm all around me. 

When the storm threatened I went back to the horses. It broke, butwas not severe after all. At length R. C. And the men returned and wemounted to ride back to camp. The storm blew away, leaving the skyclear and blue, and the sun shone warm. We had an hour of winding inand out among windfalls of timber, and jumping logs, and breakingthrough brush. Then the way sloped down to a beautiful forest, shadyand green, full of mossy dells, almost overgrown with ferns and lowspreading ground pine or spruce. The aisles of the forest were longand shaded by the stately spruces. Water ran through every ravine, sometimes a brawling brook, sometimes a rivulet hidden underoverhanging mossy banks. We scared up two lonely grouse, at longintervals. At length we got into fallen timber, and from that workedinto a jumble of rocks, where the going was rough and dangerous. 

The afternoon waned as we rode on and on, up and down, in and out, around, and at times the horses stood almost on their heads, slidingdown steep places where the earth was soft and black, and gave forth adank odor. We passed ponds and swamps, and little lakes. We saw wherebeavers had gnawed down aspens, and we just escaped miring ourhorses in marshes, where the grass grew, rich and golden, hidingthe treacherous mire. The sun set, and still we did not seem to getanywhere. I was afraid darkness would overtake us, and we would getlost in the woods. Presently we struck an old elk trail, and followingthat for a while, came to a point where R. C. And I recognized a treeand a glade where we had been before--and not far from camp--a welcomediscovery. 

Next day we broke camp and started across country for new territorynear Whitley's Peak. 

We rode east up the mountain. After several miles along an old loggingroad we reached the timber, and eventually the top of the ridge. Wewent down, crossing parks and swales. There were cattle pastures, andeaten over and trodden so much they had no beauty left. Teague wantedto camp at a salt lick, but I did not care for the place. 

We went on. The dogs crossed a bear trail, and burst out in a clamor. We had a hard time holding them. 

The guide and I had a hot argument. I did not want to stay there andchase a bear in a cow pasture. .. . So we went on, down into ranchcountry, and this disgusted me further. We crossed a ranch, and rodeseveral miles on a highway, then turned abruptly, and climbed a rough, rocky ridge, covered with brush and aspen. We crossed it, and wentdown for several miles, and had to camp in an aspen grove, on theslope of a ravine. It was an uninviting place to stay, but as therewas no other we had to make the best of it. The afternoon had waned. Itook a gun and went off down the ravine, until I came to a deep gorge. Here I heard the sound of a brawling brook. I sat down for an hour, but saw no game. 

That night I had a wretched bed, one that I could hardly stay in, and I passed miserable hours. I got up sore, cramped, sleepy andirritable. We had to wait three hours for the horses to be caught andpacked. I had predicted straying horses. At last we were off, and rodealong the steep slope of a canyon for several miles, and then struck astream of amber-colored water. As we climbed along this we came intodeep spruce forest, where it was pleasure to ride. I saw many dellsand nooks, cool and shady, full of mossy rocks and great trees. Butflowers were scarce. We were sorry to pass the head-springs of thatstream and to go on over the divide and down into the wooded, but dryand stony country. We rode until late, and came at last to a parkwhere sheep had been run. I refused to camp here, and Teague, in highdudgeon, rode on. As it turned out I was both wise and lucky, for werode into a park with many branches, where there was good water andfair grass and a pretty grove of white pines in which to pitch ourtents. I enjoyed this camp, and had a fine rest at night. 

The morning broke dark and lowering. We hustled to get started beforea storm broke. It began to rain as we mounted our horses, and soonwe were in the midst of a cold rain. It blew hard. We put on ourslickers. After a short ride down through the forest we enteredBuffalo Park. This was a large park, and we lost time trying to find aforester's trail leading out of it. At last we found one, but it soonpetered out, and we were lost in thick timber, in a driving rain, withthe cold and wind increasing. But we kept on. 

This forest was deep and dark, with tremendous windfalls, and greatcanyons around which we had to travel. It took us hours to ride out ofit. When we began to descend once more we struck an old lumber road. More luck--the storm ceased, and presently we were out on an aspenslope with a great valley beneath, and high, black peaks beyond. Belowthe aspens were long swelling slopes of sage and grass, gray andgolden and green. A ranch lay in the valley, and we crossed it toclimb up a winding ravine, once more to the aspens where we camped inthe rancher's pasture. It was a cold, wet camp, but we managed to befairly comfortable. 

The sunset was gorgeous. The mass of clouds broke and rolled. There was exquisite golden light on the peaks, and many rose- andviolet-hued banks of cloud. 

Morning found us shrouded in fog. We were late starting. About ninethe curtain of gray began to lift and break. We climbed pastures andaspen thickets, high up to the spruce, where the grass grew luxuriant, and the red wall of rock overhung the long slopes. The view west wasmagnificent--a long, bulging range of mountains, vast stretches ofgreen aspen slopes, winding parks of all shapes, gray and gold andgreen, and jutting peaks, and here and there patches of autumn blazein grass and thicket. 

We spent the afternoon pitching camp on an aspen knoll, with water, grass, and wood near at hand, and the splendid view of mountains andvalleys below. 

We spent many full days under the shadow of Whitley's Peak. After themiddle of September the aspens colored and blazed to the touch offrost, and the mountain slopes were exceedingly beautiful. Againsta background of gray sage the gold and red and purple aspen grovesshowed too much like exquisite paintings to seem real. In the morningsthe frost glistened thick and white on the grass; and after thegorgeous sunsets of gold over the violet-hazed ranges the air grewstingingly cold. 

Bear-chasing with a pack of hounds has been severely criticised bymany writers and I was among them. I believed it a cowardly business, and that was why, if I chased bears with dogs, I wanted to chase thekind that could not be treed. But like many another I did not knowwhat I was writing about. I did not shoot a bear out of a tree and Iwould not do so, except in a case of hunger. All the same, leaving thetree out of consideration, bear-chasing with hounds is a tremendouslyexciting and hazardous game. But my ideas about sport are changing. Hunting, in the sportsman's sense, is a cruel and degenerate business. 

[Illustration: WHITE ASPEN TREE, SHOWING MARKS OF BEAR CLAWS]

The more I hunt the more I become convinced of something wrong aboutthe game. I am a different man when I get a gun in my hands. All isexciting, hot-pressed, red. Hunting is magnificent up to the momentthe shot is fired. After that it is another matter. It is useless forsportsmen to tell me that they, in particular, hunt right, conservethe game, do not go beyond the limit, and all that sort of thing. I donot believe them and I never met the guide who did. A rifle is madefor killing. When a man goes out with one he means to kill. He maykeep within the law, but that is not the question. It is a question ofspirit, and men who love to hunt are yielding to and always developingthe old primitive instinct to kill. The meaning of the spirit of lifeis not clear to them. An argument may be advanced that, according tothe laws of self-preservation and the survival of the fittest, if aman stops all strife, all fight, then he will retrograde. And that isto say if a man does not go to the wilds now and then, and work hardand live some semblance of the life of his progenitors, he willweaken. It seems that he will, but I am not prepared now to saywhether or not that would be well. The Germans believe they are therace fittest to survive over all others--and that has made me alittle sick of this Darwin business. 

[Illustration: A BLACK BEAR TREED]

To return, however, to the fact that to ride after hounds on a wildchase is a dangerous and wonderfully exhilarating experience, I willrelate a couple of instances, and I will leave it to my readers tojudge whether or not it is a cowardly sport. 

One afternoon a rancher visited our camp and informed us that he hadsurprised a big black bear eating the carcass of a dead cow. 

"Good! We'll have a bear to-morrow night, " declared Teague, indelight. "We'll get him even if the trail is a day old. But he'll comeback to-night. "

Early next morning the young rancher and three other boys rode intocamp, saying they would like to go with us to see the fun. We wereglad to have them, and we rode off through the frosted sage thatcrackled like brittle glass under the hoofs of the horses. Our guideled toward a branch of a park, and when we got within perhaps aquarter of a mile Teague suggested that R. C. And I go ahead on thechance of surprising the bear. It was owing to this suggestion that mybrother and I were well ahead of the others. But we did not see anybear near the carcass of the cow. Old Jim and Sampson were closebehind us, and when Jim came within forty yards of that carcass heput his nose up with a deep and ringing bay, and he shot by us like astreak. He never went near the dead cow! Sampson bayed like thunderand raced after Jim. 

"They're off!" I yelled to R. C. "It's a hot scent! Come on!"

We spurred our horses and they broke across the open park to the edgeof the woods. Jim and Sampson were running straight with noses high. Iheard a string of yelps and bellows from our rear. 

"Look back!" shouted R. C. 

Teague and the cowboys were unleashing the rest of the pack. It surelywas great to see them stretch out, yelping wildly. Like the wind theypassed us. Jim and Sampson headed into the woods with deep bays. I wasriding Teague's best horse for this sort of work and he understood thegame and plainly enjoyed it. R. C. 's horse ran as fast in the woods ashe did in the open. This frightened me, and I yelled to R. C. To becareful. I yelled to deaf ears. That is the first great risk--a rideris not going to be careful! We were right on top of Jim and Sampsonwith the pack clamoring mad music just behind. The forest rang. Bothhorses hurdled logs, sometimes two at once. My old lion chases withBuffalo Jones had made me skillful in dodging branches and snags, andsliding knees back to avoid knocking them against trees. For a milethe forest was comparatively open, and here we had a grand and ringingrun. I received two hard knocks, was unseated once, but held on, andI got a stinging crack in the face from a branch. R. C. Added severalmore black-and-blue spots to his already spotted anatomy, and hemissed, just by an inch, a solid snag that would have broken himin two. The pack stretched out in wild staccato chorus, the littleAiredales literally screeching. Jim got out of our sight and thenSampson. Still it was ever more thrilling to follow by sound ratherthan sight. They led up a thick, steep slope. Here we got into troublein the windfalls of timber and the pack drew away from us, up over themountain. We were half way up when we heard them jump the bear. Theforest seemed full of strife and bays and yelps. We heard the dogs godown again to our right, and as we turned we saw Teague and the othersstrung out along the edge of the park. They got far ahead of us. Whenwe reached the bottom of the slope they were out of sight, but wecould hear them yell. The hounds were working around on another slope, from which craggy rocks loomed above the timber. R. C. 's horse lungedacross the park and appeared to be running off from mine. I was alittle to the right, and when my horse got under way, full speed, wehad the bad luck to plunge suddenly into soft ground. He went to hisknees, and I sailed out of the saddle fully twenty feet, to alight allspread out and to slide like a plow. I did not seem to be hurt. When Igot up my horse was coming and he appeared to be patient with me, buthe was in a hurry. Before we got across the wet place R. C. Was out ofsight. I decided that instead of worrying about him I had better thinkabout myself. Once on hard ground my horse fairly charged into thewoods and we broke brush and branches as if they had been punk. Itwas again open forest, then a rocky slope, and then a flat ridge withaisles between the trees. Here I heard the melodious notes of Teague'shunting horn, and following that, the full chorus of the hounds. Theyhad treed the bear. Coming into still more open forest, with rockshere and there, I caught sight of R. C. Far ahead, and soon I hadglimpses of the other horses, and lastly, while riding full tilt, Ispied a big, black, glistening bear high up in a pine a hundred yardsor more distant. 

Slowing down I rode up to the circle of frenzied dogs and excited men. The boys were all jabbering at once. Teague was beaming. R. C. Sat hishorse, and it struck me that he looked sorry for the bear. 

"Fifteen minutes!" ejaculated Teague, with a proud glance at Old Jimstanding with forepaws up on the pine. 

Indeed it had been a short and ringing chase. 

All the time while I fooled around trying to photograph the treedbear, R. C. Sat there on his horse, looking upward. 

"Well, gentlemen, better kill him, " said Teague, cheerfully. "If hegets rested he'll come down. "

It was then I suggested to R. C. That he do the shooting. 

"Not much!" he exclaimed. 

The bear looked really pretty perched up there. He was as round as abarrel and black as jet and his fur shone in the gleams of sunlight. His tongue hung out, and his plump sides heaved, showing what a quick, hard run he had made before being driven to the tree. What struck memost forcibly about him was the expression in his eyes as he lookeddown at those devils of hounds. He was scared. He realized his peril. It was utterly impossible for me to see Teague's point of view. 

"Go ahead--and plug him, " I replied to my brother. "Get it over. "

"You do it, " he said. 

"No, I won't. "

"Why not--I'd like to know?"

"Maybe we won't have so good a chance again--and I want you to getyour bear, " I replied. 

"Why it's like--murder, " he protested. 

"Oh, not so bad as that, " I returned, weakly. "We need the meat. We'venot had any game meat, you know, except ducks and grouse. "

"You won't do it?" he added, grimly. 

"No, I refuse. "

Meanwhile the young ranchers gazed at us with wide eyes and theexpression on Teague's honest, ruddy face would have been funny underother circumstances. 

"That bear will come down an' mebbe kill one of my dogs, " heprotested. 

"Well, he can come for all I care, " I replied, positively, and Iturned away. 

I heard R. C. Curse low under his breath. Then followed the spang of his. 35 Remington. I wheeled in time to see the bear straining upward interrible convulsion, his head pointed high, with blood spurting from hisnose. Slowly he swayed and fell with a heavy crash. 

[Illustration: CROSSING THE COLORADO RIVER AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GRANDCANYON]

[Illustration: WHERE ROLLS THE COLORADO]

The next bear chase we had was entirely different medicine. 

Off in the basin under the White Slides, back of our camp, the houndsstruck a fresh track and in an instant were out of sight. With thecowboy Vern setting the pace we plunged after them. It was roughcountry. Bogs, brooks, swales, rocky little parks, stretches of timberfull of windfalls, groves of aspens so thick we could scarcely squeezethrough--all these obstacles soon allowed the hounds to get far away. We came out into a large park, right under the mountain slope, andhere we sat our horses listening to the chase. That trail led aroundthe basin and back near to us, up the thick green slope, where high upnear a ledge we heard the pack jump this bear. It sounded to us as ifhe had been roused out of a sleep. 

"I'll bet it's one of the big grizzlies we've heard about, " saidTeague. 

That was something to my taste. I have seen a few grizzlies. Ridingto higher ground I kept close watch on the few open patches up on theslope. The chase led toward us for a while. Suddenly I saw a big bearwith a frosted coat go lumbering across one of these openings. 

"Silvertip! Silvertip!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "I saw him!"

My call thrilled everybody. Vern spurred his horse and took to theright. Teague advised that we climb the slope. So we made for thetimber. Once there we had to get off and climb on foot. It was steep, rough, very hard work. I had on chaps and spurs. Soon I was hot, laboring, and my heart began to hurt. We all had to rest. The bayingof the hounds inspirited us now and then, but presently we lost it. Teague said they had gone over the ridge and as soon as we got up tothe top we would hear them again. We struck an elk trail with freshelk tracks in it. Teague said they were just ahead of us. I neverclimbed so hard and fast in my life. We were all tuckered out when wereached the top of the ridge. Then to our great disappointment we didnot hear the hounds. Mounting we rode along the crest of this woodedridge toward the western end, which was considerably higher. Once ona bare patch of ground we saw where the grizzly had passed. The big, round tracks, toeing in a little, made a chill go over me. No doubt ofits being a silvertip!

We climbed and rode to the high point, and coming out upon the summitof the mountain we all heard the deep, hoarse baying of the pack. Theywere in the canyon down a bare grassy slope and over a wooded benchat our feet. Teague yelled as he spurred down. R. C. Rode hard in histracks. 

But my horse was new to this bear chasing. He was mettlesome, and hedid not want to do what I wanted. When I jabbed the spurs into hisflanks he nearly bucked me off. I was looking for a soft place tolight when he quit. Long before I got down that open slope Teague andR. C. Had disappeared. I had to follow their tracks. This I did at agallop, but now and then lost the tracks, and had to haul in to findthem. If I could have heard the hounds from there I would have gone onanyway. But once down in the jack-pines I could hear neither yell orbay. The pines were small, close together, and tough. I hurt my hands, scratched my face, barked my knees. The horse had a habit of suddenlydeciding to go the way he liked instead of the way I guided him, andwhen he plunged between saplings too close together to permit us bothto go through, it was exceedingly hard on me. I was worked into afrenzy. Suppose R. C. Should come face to face with that old grizzlyand fail to kill him! That was the reason for my desperate hurry. Igot a crack on the head that nearly blinded me. My horse grew hot andbegan to run in every little open space. He could scarcely be held in. And I, with the blood hot in me too, did not hold him hard enough. 

It seemed miles across that wooded bench. But at last I reachedanother slope. Coming out upon a canyon rim I heard R. C. And Teagueyelling, and I heard the hounds fighting the grizzly. He was growlingand threshing about far below. I had missed the tracks made by Teagueand my brother, and it was necessary to find them. That slope lookedimpassable. I rode back along the rim, then forward. Finally I foundwhere the ground was plowed deep and here I headed my horse. He hadbeen used to smooth roads and he could not take these jumps. I wentforward on his neck. But I hung on and spurred him hard. The madspirit of that chase had gotten into him too. All the time I couldhear the fierce baying and yelping of the hounds, and occasionally Iheard a savage bawl from the bear. I literally plunged, slid, broke away down that mountain slope, riding all the time, before I discoveredthe footprints of Teague and R. C. They had walked, leading theirhorses. By this time I was so mad I would not get off. I rode all theway down that steep slope of dense saplings, loose rock slides andearth, and jumble of splintered cliff. That he did not break myneck and his own spoke the truth about that roan horse. Despite hisinexperience he was great. We fell over one bank, but a thicket ofaspens saved us from rolling. The avalanches slid from under us untilI imagined that the grizzly would be scared. Once as I stopped tolisten I heard bear and pack farther down the canyon--heard them abovethe roar of a rushing stream. They went on and I lost the sounds offight. But R. C. 's clear thrilling call floated up to me. Probably hewas worried about me. 

Then before I realized it I was at the foot of the slope, in a narrowcanyon bed, full of rocks and trees, with the din of roaring water inmy ears. I could hear nothing else. Tracks were everywhere, and when Icame to the first open place I was thrilled. The grizzly had plungedoff a sandy bar into the water, and there he had fought the hounds. Signs of that battle were easy to read. I saw where his huge tracks, still wet, led up the opposite sandy bank. 

Then, down stream, I did my most reckless riding. On level groundthe horse was splendid. Once he leaped clear across the brook. Everyplunge, every turn I expected to bring me upon my brother and Teagueand that fighting pack. More than once I thought I heard the spang ofthe . 35 and this made me urge the roan faster and faster. 

The canyon narrowed, the stream-bed deepened. I had to slow down toget through the trees and rocks. And suddenly I was overjoyed to ridepell-mell upon R. C. And Teague with half the panting hounds. Thecanyon had grown too rough for the horses to go farther and it wouldhave been useless for us to try on foot. As I dismounted, so sore andbruised I could hardly stand, old Jim came limping in to fall into thebrook where he lapped and lapped thirstily. Teague threw up his hands. Old Jim's return meant an ended chase. The grizzly had eluded thehounds in that jumble of rocks below. 

"Say, did you meet the bear?" queried Teague, eyeing me inastonishment and mirth. 

Bloody, dirty, ragged and wringing wet with sweat I must have been asight. R. C. However, did not look so very immaculate, and when I sawhe also was lame and scratched and black I felt better. 

CHAPTER III

ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON

I

The Grand Canyon of Arizona is over two hundred miles long, thirteenwide, and a mile and a half deep; a titanic gorge in which mountains, tablelands, chasms and cliffs lie half veiled in purple haze. It iswild and sublime, a thing of wonder, of mystery; beyond all else aplace to grip the heart of a man, to unleash his daring spirit. 

On April 20th, 1908, after days on the hot desert, my weary party andpack train reached the summit of Powell's Plateau, the most isolated, inaccessible and remarkable mesa of any size in all the canyoncountry. Cut off from the mainland it appeared insurmountable;standing aloof from the towers and escarpments, rugged and bold inoutline, its forest covering like a strip of black velvet, its giantgranite walls gold in the sun, it seemed apart from the world, haunting with its beauty, isolation and wild promise. 

The members of my party harmoniously fitted the scene. Buffalo Jones, burly-shouldered, bronze-faced, and grim, proved in his appearancewhat a lifetime on the plains could make of a man. Emett was a Mormon, a massively built grey-bearded son of the desert; he had lived hislife on it; he had conquered it and in his falcon eyes shone all itsfire and freedom. Ranger Jim Owens had the wiry, supple body andcareless, tidy garb of the cowboy, and the watchful gaze, quiet faceand locked lips of the frontiersman. The fourth member was a NavajoIndian, a copper-skinned, raven-haired, beady-eyed desert savage. 

I had told Emett to hire some one who could put the horses on grass inthe evening and then find them the next morning. In northern Arizonathis required more than genius. Emett secured the best trailer of thedesert Navajos. Jones hated an Indian; and Jim, who carried an ounceof lead somewhere in his person, associated this painful addition tohis weight with an unfriendly Apache, and swore all Indians shouldbe dead. So between the two, Emett and I had trouble in keeping ourNavajo from illustrating the plainsman idea of a really good Indian--adead one. 

While we were pitching camp among magnificent pine trees, and above ahollow where a heavy bank of snow still lay, a sodden pounding in theturf attracted our attention. 

"Hold the horses!" yelled Emett. 

As we all made a dive among our snorting and plunging horses the soundseemed to be coming right into camp. In a moment I saw a string ofwild horses thundering by. A noble black stallion led them, and as heran with beautiful stride he curved his fine head backward to look atus, and whistled his wild challenge. 

Later a herd of large white-tailed deer trooped up the hollow. TheNavajo grew much excited and wanted me to shoot, and when Emett toldhim we had not come out to kill, he looked dumbfounded. Even theIndian felt it a strange departure from the usual mode of hunting totravel and climb hundreds of miles over hot desert and rock-ribbedcanyons, to camp at last in a spot so wild that deer were tame ascattle, and then not kill. 

Nothing could have pleased me better, incident to the settling intopermanent camp. The wild horses and tame deer added the all-satisfyingtouch to the background of forest, flowers and mighty pines and sunlitpatches of grass, the white tents and red blankets, the sleepinghounds and blazing fire-logs all making a picture like that of ahunter's dream. 

"Come, saddle up, " called the never restful Jones. "Leave the Indianin camp with the hounds, and we'll get the lay of the land. " Allafternoon we spent riding the plateau. What a wonderful place! We werecompletely bewildered with its physical properties, and surprisedat the abundance of wild horses and mustangs, deer, coyotes, foxes, grouse and other birds, and overjoyed to find innumerable lion trails. When we returned to camp I drew a rough map, which Jones laid flat onthe ground as he called us around him. 

"Now, boys, let's get our heads together. "

In shape the plateau resembled the ace of clubs. The center and sidewings were high and well wooded with heavy pines; the middle wingwas longest, sloped west, had no pine, but a dense growth of cedar. Numerous ridges and canyons cut up this central wing. Middle Canyon, the longest and deepest, bisected the plateau, headed near camp, andran parallel with two smaller ones, which we named Right and LeftCanyons. These three were lion runways and hundreds of deer carcasseslined the thickets. North Hollow was the only depression, as well asrunway, on the northwest rim. West Point formed the extreme westerncape of the plateau. To the left of West Point was a deep cut-in ofthe rim wall, called the Bay. The three important canyons opened intoit. From the Bay, the south rim was regular and impassable all the wayround to the narrow Saddle, which connected it to the mainland. 

"Now then, " said Jones, when we assured him that we were pretty wellinformed as to the important features, "you can readily see ouradvantage. The plateau is about nine or ten miles long, and six wideat its widest. We can't get lost, at least for long. We know wherelions can go over the rim and we'll head them off, make short cutchases, something new in lion hunting. We are positive the lions cannot get over the second wall, except where we came up, at the Saddle. In regard to lion signs, I'm doubtful of the evidence of my own eyes. This is virgin ground. No white man or Indian has ever hunted lionshere. We have stumbled on a lion home, the breeding place of hundredsof lions that infest the north rim of the canyon. "

The old plainsman struck a big fist into the palm of his hand, a rareaction with him. Jim lifted his broad hat and ran his fingers throughhis white hair. In Emett's clear desert-eagle eyes shown a furtive, anxious look, which yet could not overshadow the smouldering fire. 

"If only we don't kill the horses!" he said. 

More than anything else that remark from such a man thrilled me withits subtle suggestion. He loved those beautiful horses. What wildrides he saw in his mind's eye! In cold calculation we perceived thewonderful possibilities never before experienced by hunters, and asthe wild spell clutched us my last bar of restraint let down. 

During supper we talked incessantly, and afterward around thecamp-fire. Twilight fell with the dark shadows sweeping under thesilent pines; the night wind rose and began its moan. 

"Shore there's some scent on the wind, " said Jim, lighting his pipewith a red ember. "See how uneasy Don is. "

The hound raised his fine, dark head and repeatedly sniffed the air, then walked to and fro as if on guard for his pack. Moze ground histeeth on a bone and growled at one of the pups. Sounder was sleepy, but he watched Don with suspicious eyes. The other hounds, mature andsomber, lay stretched before the fire. 

"Tie them up, Jim, " said Jones, "and let's turn in. "

II

When I awakened next morning the sound of Emett's axe rang outsharply. Little streaks of light from the camp-fire played between theflaps of the tent. I saw old Moze get up and stretch himself. A jangleof cow-bells from the forest told me we would not have to wait for thehorses that morning. 

"The Injun's all right, " Jones remarked to Emett. 

"All rustle for breakfast, " called Jim. 

We ate in the semi-darkness with the gray shadow ever brightening. Dawn broke as we saddled our horses. The pups were limber, and ranto and fro on their chains, scenting the air; the older hounds stoodquietly waiting. 

"Come Navvy--come chase cougie, " said Emett. 

"Dam! No!" replied the Indian. 

"Let him keep camp, " suggested Jim. 

"All right; but he'll eat us out, " Emett declared. 

"Climb up you fellows, " said Jones, impatiently. "Have I goteverything--rope, chains, collars, wire, nippers? Yes, all right. Hyar, you lazy dogs--out of this!"

We rode abreast down the ridge. The demeanor of the hounds contrastedsharply with what it had been at the start of the hunt the yearbefore. Then they had been eager, uncertain, violent; they did notknow what was in the air; now they filed after Don in an orderly trot. 

We struck out of the pines at half past five. Floating mist hid thelower end of the plateau. The morning had a cool touch but there wasno frost. Crossing Middle Canyon about half way down we jogged on. Cedar trees began to show bright green against the soft gray sage. Wewere nearing the dark line of the cedar forest when Jim, who led, heldup his hand in a warning check. We closed in around him. 

"Watch Don, " he said. 

The hound stood stiff, head well up, nose working, and the hair on hisback bristling. All the other hounds whined and kept close to him. 

"Don scents a lion, " whispered Jim. "I've never known him to do thatunless there was the scent of a lion on the wind. "

"Hunt 'em up Don, old boy, " called Jones. 

The pack commenced to work back and forth along the ridge. We neareda hollow when Don barked eagerly. Sounder answered and likewise Jude. Moze's short angry "bow-wow" showed the old gladiator to be in line. 

"Ranger's gone, " cried Jim. "He was farthest ahead. I'll bet he'sstruck it. We'll know in a minute, for we're close. "

The hounds were tearing through the sage, working harder and harder, calling and answering one another, all the time getting down into thehollow. 

Don suddenly let out a string of yelps. I saw him, running head up, pass into the cedars like a yellow dart. Sounder howled his deep, fullbay, and led the rest of the pack up the slope in angry clamor. 

"They're off!" yelled Jim, and so were we. 

In less than a minute we had lost one another. Crashings among the drycedars, thud of hoofs and yells kept me going in one direction. Thefiery burst of the hounds had surprised me. I remembered that Jim hadsaid Emett and his charger might keep the pack in sight, but that noneof the rest of us could. 

It did not take me long to realize what my mustang was made of. Hisname was Foxie, which suited him well. He carried me at a fast pace onthe trail of some one; and he seemed to know that by keeping in thistrail part of the work of breaking through the brush was already donefor him. Nevertheless, the sharp dead branches, more numerous in acedar forest than elsewhere, struck and stung us as we passed. Weclimbed a ridge, and found the cedars thinning out into open patches. Then we faced a bare slope of sage and I saw Emett below on his bighorse. 

Foxie bolted down this slope, hurdling the bunches of sage, andshowing the speed of which Emett had boasted. The open ground, withits brush, rock and gullies, was easy going for the little mustang. Iheard nothing save the wind singing in my ears. Emett's trail, plainin the yellow ground showed me the way. On entering the cedars againI pulled Foxie in and stopped twice to yell "waa-hoo!" I heard thebaying of the hounds, but no answer to my signal. Then I attended tothe stern business of catching up. For what seemed a long time, Ithreaded the maze of cedar, galloped the open sage flats, always onEmett's track. 

A signal cry, sharp to the right, turned me. I answered, and with theexchange of signal cries found my way into an open glade where Jonesand Jim awaited me. 

"Here's one, " said Jim. "Emett must be with the hounds. Listen. "

With the labored breathing of the horses filling our ears we couldhear no other sound. Dismounting, I went aside and turned my ear tothe breeze. 

"I hear Don, " I cried instantly. 

"Which way?" both men asked. 

"West. "

"Strange, " said Jones. "The hound wouldn't split, would he, Jim?"

"Don leave that hot trail? Shore he wouldn't, " replied Jim. "But hisrunnin' do seem queer this morning. "

"The breeze is freshening, " I said. "There! Now listen! Don, andSounder, too. "

The baying came closer and closer. Our horses threw up long ears. Itwas hard to sit still and wait. At a quick cry from Jim we saw Doncross the lower end of the flat. 

No need to spur our mounts! The lifting of bridles served, and awaywe raced. Foxie passed the others in short order. Don had longdisappeared, but with blended bays, Jude, Moze, and Sounder broke outof the cedars hot on the trail. They, too, were out of sight in amoment. 

The crash of breaking brush and thunder of hoofs from where the houndshad come out of the forest, attracted and even frightened me. I sawthe green of a low cedar tree shake, and split, to let out a huge, gaunt horse with a big man doubled over his saddle. The onslaughtof Emett and his desert charger stirred a fear in me that checkedadmiration. 

"Hounds running wild, " he yelled, and the dark shadows of the cedarsclaimed him again. 

A hundred yards within the forest we came again upon Emett, dismounted, searching the ground. Moze and Sounder were with him, apparently at fault. Suddenly Moze left the little glade and ventinghis sullen, quick bark, disappeared under the trees. Sounder sat onhis haunches and yelped. 

"Now what the hell is wrong?" growled Jones tumbling off his saddle. 

"Shore something is, " said Jim, also dismounting. 

"Here's a lion track, " interposed Emett. 

"Ha! and here's another, " cried Jones, in great satisfaction. "That'sthe trail we were on, and here's another crossing it at right angles. Both are fresh: one isn't fifteen minutes old. Don and Jude have splitone way and Moze another. By George! that's great of Sounder to hangfire!"

"Put him on the fresh trail, " said Jim, vaulting into his saddle. 

Jones complied, with the result that we saw Sounder start off on thetrail Moze had taken. All of us got in some pretty hard riding, andmanaged to stay within earshot of Sounder. We crossed a canyon, andpresently reached another which, from its depth, must have been MiddleCanyon. Sounder did not climb the opposite slope, so we followed therim. From a bare ridge we distinguished the line of pines above us, and decided that our location was in about the center of the plateau. 

Very little time elapsed before we heard Moze. Sounder had caught upwith him. We came to a halt where the canyon widened and was not sodeep, with cliffs and cedars opposite us, and an easy slope leadingdown. Sounder bayed incessantly; Moze emitted harsh, eager howls, andboth hounds, in plain sight, began working in circles. 

"The lion has gone up somewhere, " cried Jim. "Look sharp!"

Repeatedly Moze worked to the edge of a low wall of stone and lookedover; then he barked and ran back to the slope, only to return. WhenI saw him slide down a steep place, make for the bottom of the stonewall, and jump into the low branches of a cedar I knew where to look. Then I descried the lion a round yellow ball, cunningly curled up in amass of dark branches. He had leaped into the tree from the wall. 

"There he is! Treed! Treed!" I yelled. "Moze has found him. "

"Down boys, down into the canyon, " shouted Jones, in sharp voice. "Make a racket, we don't want him to jump. "

How he and Jim and Emett rolled and cracked the stone! For a moment Icould not get off my horse; I was chained to my saddle by a strangevacillation that could have been no other thing than fear. 

"Are you afraid?" called Jones from below. 

"Yes, but I am coming, " I replied, and dismounted to plunge down thehill. It may have been shame or anger that dominated me then; whateverit was I made directly for the cedar, and did not halt until I wasunder the snarling lion. 

"Not too close!" warned Jones. "He might jump. It's a Tom, atwo-year-old, and full of fight. "

It did not matter to me then whether he jumped or not. I knew I had tobe cured of my dread, and the sooner it was done the better. 

Old Moze had already climbed a third of the distance up to the lion. 

"Hyar Moze! Out of there, you rascal coon chaser!" Jones yelled as hethrew stones and sticks at the hound. Moze, however, replied with hissnarly bark and climbed on steadily. 

"I've got to pull him out. Watch close boys and tell me if the lionstarts down. "

When Jones climbed the first few branches of the tree, Tom let out anominous growl. 

"Make ready to jump. Shore he's comin', " called Jim. 

The lion, snarling viciously, started to descend. It was a ticklishmoment for all of us, particularly Jones. Warily he backed down. 

"Boys, maybe he's bluffing, " said Jones, "Try him out. Grab sticks andrun at the tree and yell, as if you were going to kill him. "

Not improbably the demonstration we executed under the tree wouldhave frightened even an African lion. Tom hesitated, showed his whitefangs, returned to his first perch, and from there climbed as far ashe could. The forked branch on which he stood swayed alarmingly. 

"Here, punch Moze out, " said Jim handing up a long pole. 

The old hound hung like a leech to the tree, making it difficult todislodge him. At length he fell heavily, and venting his thick battlecry, attempted to climb again. 

Jim seized him, made him fast to the rope with which Sounder hadalready been tied. 

"Say Emett, I've no chance here, " called Jones. "You try to throw athim from the rock. "

Emett ran up the rock, coiled his lasso and cast the noose. It sailedperfectly in between the branches and circled Tom's head. Before itcould be slipped tight he had thrown it off. Then he hid behind thebranches. 

"I'm going farther up, " said Jones. 

"Be quick, " yelled Jim. 

Jones evidently had that in mind. When he reached the middle fork ofthe cedar, he stood erect and extended the noose of his lasso on thepoint of his pole. Tom, with a hiss and snap, struck at it savagely. The second trial tempted the lion to saw the rope with his teeth. Ina flash Jones withdrew the pole, and lifted a loop of the slack ropeover the lion's ears. 

"Pull!" he yelled. 

Emett, at the other end of the lasso, threw his great strength intoaction, pulling the lion out with a crash, and giving the cedar such atremendous shaking that Jones lost his footing and fell heavily. 

Thrilling as the moment was, I had to laugh, for Jones came up out ofa cloud of dust, as angry as a wet hornet, and made prodigious leapsto get out of the reach of the whirling lion. 

"Look out!" he bawled. 

Tom, certainly none the worse for his tumble, made three leaps, two atJones, one at Jim, which was checked by the short length of the ropein Emett's hands. Then for a moment, a thick cloud of dust envelopedthe wrestling lion, during which the quick-witted Jones tied the freeend of the lasso to a sapling. 

"Dod gast the luck!" yelled Jones reaching for another lasso. "Ididn't mean for you to pull him out of the tree. Now he'll get looseor kill himself. "

When the dust cleared away, we discovered our prize stretched out atfull length and frothing at the mouth. As Jones approached, the lionbegan a series of evolutions so rapid as to be almost indiscernible tothe eye. I saw a wheel of dust and yellow fur. Then came a thud andthe lion lay inert. 

Jones pounced upon him and loosed the lasso around his neck. 

"I think he's done for, but maybe not. He's breathing yet. Here, helpme tie his paws together. Look out! He's coming to!"

The lion stirred and raised his head. Jones ran the loop of the secondlasso around the two hind paws and stretched the lion out. While inthis helpless position and with no strength and hardly any breath leftin him the lion was easy to handle. With Emett's help Jones quicklyclipped the sharp claws, tied the four paws together, took off theneck lasso and substituted a collar and chain. 

"There, that's one. He'll come to all right, " said Jones. "But we arelucky. Emett, never pull another lion clear out of a tree. Pull him overa limb and hang him there while some one below ropes his hind paws. That's the only way, and if we don't stick to it, somebody is going toget done for. Come, now, we'll leave this fellow here and hunt up Donand Jude. They've treed another lion by this time. "

Remarkable to me was to see how, as soon as the lion lay helpless, Sounder lost his interest. Moze growled, yet readily left the spot. Before we reached the level, both hounds had disappeared. 

[Illustration: DOWN THE SHINUMO TRAIL OF THE NORTH RIVER]

[Illustration: CAMP AT THE SADDLE]

"Hear that?" yelled Jones, digging spurs into his horse. "Hi! Hi! Hi!"

From the cedars rang the thrilling, blending chorus of bays that toldof a treed lion. The forest was almost impenetrable. We had to pickour way. Emett forged ahead; we heard him smashing the deadwood; andsoon a yell proclaimed the truth of Jones' assertion. 

First I saw the men looking upward; then Moze climbing the cedar, andthe other hounds with noses skyward; and last, in the dead top of thetree, a dark blot against the blue, a big tawny lion. 

"Whoop!" The yell leaped past my lips. Quiet Jim was yelling; andEmett, silent man of the desert, let from his wide cavernous chest abooming roar that drowned ours. 

Jones' next decisive action turned us from exultation to the grimbusiness of the thing. He pulled Moze out of the cedar, and while heclimbed up, Emett ran his rope under the collars of all of the hounds. Quick as the idea flashed over me I leaped into the cedar adjoiningthe one Jones was in, and went up hand over hand. A few pulls broughtme to the top, and then my blood ran hot and quick, for I was levelwith the lion, too close for comfort, but in excellent position fortaking pictures. 

The lion, not heeding me, peered down at Jones, between widespreadpaws. I could hear nothing except the hounds. Jones' gray hat camepushing up between the dead snags; then his burly shoulders. Thequivering muscles of the lion gathered tense, and his lithe bodycrouched low on the branches. He was about to jump. His open drippingjaws, his wild eyes, roving in terror for some means of escape, histufted tail, swinging against the twigs and breaking them, manifestedhis extremity. The eager hounds waited below, howling, leaping. 

It bothered me considerably to keep my balance, regulate my cameraand watch the proceedings. Jones climbed on with his rope between histeeth, and a long stick. The very next instant it seemed to me, Iheard the cracking of branches and saw the lion biting hard at thenoose which circled his neck. 

Here I swung down, branch to branch, and dropped to the ground, forI wanted to see what went on below. Above the howls and yelps, Idistinguished Jones' yell. Emett ran directly under the lion with aspread noose in his hands. Jones pulled and pulled, but the lion heldon firmly. Throwing the end of the lasso down to Jim, Jones yelledagain, and then they both pulled. The lion was too strong. Suddenly, however, the branch broke, letting the lion fall, kicking franticallywith all four paws. Emett grasped one of the four whipping paws, andeven as the powerful animal sent him staggering he dexterously leftthe noose fast on the paw. Jim and Jones in unison let go of theirlasso, which streaked up through the branches as the lion fell, andthen it dropped to the ground, where Jim made a flying grab for it. Jones plunging out of the tree fell upon the rope at the same instant. 

If the action up to then had been fast, it was slow to what followed. It seemed impossible for two strong men with one lasso, and a giantwith another, to straighten out that lion. He was all over the littlespace under the trees at once. The dust flew, the sticks snapped, the gravel pattered like shot against the cedars. Jones ploughed theground flat on his stomach, holding on with one hand, with the othertrying to fasten the rope to something; Jim went to his knees; and onthe other side of the lion, Emett's huge bulk tipped a sharp angle, and then fell. 

I shouted and ran forward, having no idea what to do, but Emett rolledbackward, at the same instant the other men got a strong haul onthe lion. Short as that moment was in which the lasso slackened, itsufficed for Jones to make the rope fast to a tree. Whereupon with thethree men pulling on the other side of the leaping lion, somehow I hadflashed into my mind the game that children play, called skipping therope, for the lion and lasso shot up and down. 

This lasted for only a few seconds. They stretched the beast from treeto tree, and Jones running with the third lasso, made fast the frontpaws. 

"It's a female, " said Jones, as the lion lay helpless, her sidesswelling; "a good-sized female. She's nearly eight feet from tip totip, but not very heavy. Hand me another rope. "

When all four lassos had been stretched, the lioness could not move. Jones strapped a collar around her neck and clipped the sharp yellowclaws. 

"Now to muzzle her, " he continued. 

Jones' method of performing this most hazardous part of the work wascharacteristic of him. He thrust a stick between her open jaws, andwhen she crushed it to splinters he tried another, and yet another, until he found one that she could not break. Then while she bit on it, he placed a wire loop over her nose, slowly tightening it, leaving thestick back of her big canines. 

The hounds ceased their yelping and when untied, Sounder wagged histail as if to say, "Well done, " and then lay down; Don walked withinthree feet of the lion, as if she were now beneath his dignity; Judebegan to nurse and lick her sore paw; only Moze the incorrigibleretained antipathy for the captive, and he growled, as always, low anddeep. And on the moment, Ranger, dusty and lame from travel, trottedwearily into the glade and, looking at the lioness, gave one disgustedbark and flopped down. 

III

Transporting our captives to camp bade fair to make us work. WhenJones, who had gone after the pack horses, hove in sight on the sageflat, it was plain to us that we were in for trouble. The bay stallionwas on the rampage. 

"Why didn't you fetch the Indian?" growled Emett, who lost his temperwhen matters concerning his horses went wrong. "Spread out, boys, andhead him off. "

We contrived to surround the stallion, and Emett succeeded in gettinga halter on him. 

"I didn't want the bay, " explained Jones, "but I couldn't drive theothers without him. When I told that redskin that we had two lions, heran off into the woods, so I had to come alone. "

"I'm going to scalp the Navajo, " said Jim, complacently. 

These remarks were exchanged on the open ridge at the entrance to thethick cedar forest. The two lions lay just within its shady precincts. Emett and I, using a long pole in lieu of a horse, had carried Tom upfrom the Canyon to where we had captured the lioness. 

Jones had brought a packsaddle and two panniers. 

[Illustration: BUCKSKIN FOREST]

[Illustration: BUFFALO JONES WITH SOUNDER AND RANGER]

When Emett essayed to lead the horse which carried these, the animalstood straight up and began to show some of his primal desertinstincts. It certainly was good luck that we unbuckled the packsaddlestraps before he left the vicinity. In about three jumps he hadseparated himself from the panniers, which were then placed upon theback of another horse. This one, a fine looking beast, and amiableunder surroundings where his life and health were considered even alittle, immediately disclaimed any intention of entering the forest. 

"They scent the lions, " said Jones. "I was afraid of it; never had butone nag that would pack lions. "

"Maybe we can't pack them at all, " replied Emett dubiously. "It'scertainly new to me. "

"We've got to, " Jones asserted; "try the sorrel. "

For the first time in a serviceable and honorable life, according toEmett, the sorrel broke his halter and kicked like a plantation mule. 

"It's a matter of fright. Try the stallion. He doesn't look afraid, "said Jones, who never knew when he was beaten. 

Emett gazed at Jones as if he had not heard right. 

"Go ahead, try the stallion. I like the way he looks. "

No wonder! The big stallion looked a king of horses--just what hewould have been if Emett had not taken him, when a colt, from his wilddesert brothers. He scented the lions, and he held his proud head up, his ears erect, and his large, dark eyes shone fiery and expressive. 

"I'll try to lead him in and let him see the lions. We can't foolhim, " said Emett. 

Marc showed no hesitation, nor anything we expected. He stoodstiff-legged, and looked as if he wanted to fight. 

"He's all right; he'll pack them, " declared Jones. 

The packsaddle being strapped on and the panniers hooked to the horns, Jones and Jim lifted Tom and shoved him down into the left pannierwhile Emett held the horse. A madder lion than Tom never lived. It wascruel enough to be lassoed and disgrace enough to be "hog-tied, " asJim called it, but to be thrust down into a bag and packed on a horsewas adding insult to injury. Tom frothed at the mouth and seemed likea fizzing torpedo about to explode. The lioness being considerablylonger and larger, was with difficulty gotten into the other pannier, and her head and paws hung out. Both lions kept growling and snarling. 

"I look to see Marc bolt over the rim, " said Emett, resignedly, asJones took up the end of the rope halter. 

"No siree!" sang out that worthy. "He's helping us out; he's proud toshow up the other nags. "

Jones was always asserting strange traits in animals, and giving themintelligence and reason. As to that, many incidents coming under myobservation while with him, and seen with his eyes, made me incline tohis claims, the fruit of a lifetime with animals. 

Marc packed the lions to camp in short order, and, quoting Jones, "without turning a hair. " We saw the Navajo's head protruding from atree. Emett yelled for him, and Jones and Jim "hahaed" derisively;whereupon the black head vanished and did not reappear. Then theyunhooked one of the panniers and dumped out the lioness. Jonesfastened her chain to a small pine tree, and as she lay powerless hepulled out the stick back of her canines. This allowed the wire muzzleto fall off. She signalled this freedom with a roar that showed herhealth to be still unimpaired. The last action in releasing her fromher painful bonds Jones performed with sleight-of-hand dexterity. Heslipped the loop fastening one paw, which loosened the rope, and in atwinkling let her work all of her other paws free. Up she sprang, earsflat, eyes ablaze, mouth wide, once more capable of defense, true toher instinct and her name. 

Before the men lowered Tom from Marc's back I stepped closer and putmy face within six inches of the lion's. He promptly spat on me. I hadto steel my nerve to keep so close. But I wanted to see a wild lion'seyes at close range. They were exquisitely beautiful, their physicalproperties as wonderful as their expression. Great half globes oftawny amber, streaked with delicate wavy lines of black, surroundingpupils of intense purple fire. Pictures shone and faded in the amberlight--the shaggy tipped plateau, the dark pines and smoky canyons, the great dotted downward slopes, the yellow cliffs and crags. Deep inthose live pupils, changing, quickening with a thousand vibrations, quivered the soul of this savage beast, the wildest of all wildNature, unquenchable love of life and freedom, flame of defiance andhate. 

Jones disposed of Tom in the same manner as he had the lioness, chaining him to an adjoining small pine, where he leaped and wrestled. 

Presently I saw Emett coming through the woods leading and draggingthe Indian. I felt sorry for the Navvy, for I felt that his fear wasnot so much physical as spiritual. And it seemed no wonder to me thatthe Navvy should hang back from this sacrilegious treatment of hisgod. A natural wisdom, which I had in common with all human beings whoconsider self preservation the first law of life, deterred me fromacquainting my august companions with my belief. At least I did notwant to break up the camp. 

In the remorseless grasp of Emett, forced along, the Navajo draggedhis feet and held his face sidewise, though his dark eyes gleamedat the lions. Terror predominated among the expressions of hiscountenance. Emett drew him within fifteen feet and held him there, and with voice, and gesticulating of his free hand, tried to show thepoor fellow that the lions would not hurt him. 

Navvy stared and muttered to himself. Here Jim had some deviltry inmind, for he edged up closer; but what it was never transpired, forEmett suddenly pointed to the horses and said to the Indian:

"_Chineago_ (feed). "

It appeared when Navvy swung himself over Marc's broad back, that ourgreat stallion had laid aside his transiently noble disposition andwas himself again. Marc proceeded to show us how truly Jim had spoken:"Shore he ain't no use for the redskin. " Before the Indian had fairlygotten astride, Marc dropped his head, humped his shoulders, broughthis feet together and began to buck. Now the Navajo was a famousbreaker of wild mustangs, but Marc was a tougher proposition than thewildest mustang that ever romped the desert. Not only was he unusuallyvigorous; he was robust and heavy, yet exceedingly active. I had seenhim roll over in the dust three times each way, and do it easily--afeat Emett declared he had never seen performed by another horse. 

Navvy began to bounce. He showed his teeth and twisted his sinewyhands in the horse's mane. Marc began to act like a demon; he plowedthe ground; apparently he bucked five feet straight up. As the Indianhad bounced he now began to shoot into the air. He rose the last timewith his heels over his head, to the full extent of his arms; and onplunging down his hold broke. He spun around the horse, then wenthurtling to the ground some twenty feet away. He sat up, and seeingEmett and Jones laughing, and Jim prostrated with joy, he showed hiswhite teeth in a smile and said:

"No bueno dam. "

I think all of us respected Navvy for his good humor, and especiallywhen he walked up to Marc, and with no show of the mean Indian, patted the glossy neck and then nimbly remounted. Marc, not being sodifficult to please as Jim in the way of discomfiting the Navajo, appeared satisfied for the present, and trotted off down the hollow, with the string of horses ahead, their bells jingling. 

Camp-fire tasks were a necessary wage in order to earn the fullenjoyment and benefit of the hunting trip; and looking for some taskwith which to turn my hand, I helped Jim feed the hounds. To feedordinary dogs is a matter of throwing them a bone; however, our dogswere not ordinary. It took time to feed them, and a prodigious amountof meat. We had packed between three and four hundred pounds ofwild-horse meat, which had been cut into small pieces and strung onthe branches of a scrub oak near camp. 

Don, as befitted a gentleman and the leader of the greatest pack inthe West, had to be fed by hand. I believe he would rather had starvedthan have demeaned himself by fighting. Starved he certainly wouldhave, if Jim had thrown meat indiscriminately to the ground. Sounderasserted his rights and preferred large portions at a time. Judebegged with great solemn eyes but was no slouch at eating for all hergentleness. Ranger, because of imperfectly developed teeth renderingmastication difficult, had to have his share cut into very smallpieces. As for Moze--well, great dogs have their faults as do greatmen--he never got enough meat; he would fight even poor crippled Jude, and steal even from the pups; when he had gotten all Jim would givehim, and all he could snatch, he would growl away with bulging sides. 

"How about feeding the lions?" asked Emett. 

"They'll drink to-night, " replied Jones, "but won't eat for days; thenwe'll tempt them with fresh rabbits. "

We made a hearty meal, succeeding which Jones and I walked throughthe woods toward the rim. A yellow promontory, huge and glistening, invited us westward, and after a detour of half a mile we reached it. The points of the rim, striking out into the immense void, always drewme irresistibly. We found the view from this rock one of startlingsplendor. The corrugated rim-wall of the middle wing extended to thewest, at this moment apparently running into the setting sun. The goldglare touching up the millions of facets of chiseled stone, createdcolor and brilliance too glorious and intense for the gaze of men. Andlooking downward was like looking into the placid, blue, bottomlessdepths of the Pacific. 

"Here, help me push off this stone, " I said to Jones. We heaved a hugeround stone, and were encouraged to feel it move. Fortunately we had alittle slope; the boulder groaned, rocked and began to slide. Just asit toppled over I glanced at the second hand of my watch. Then witheyes over the rim we waited. The silence was the silence of thecanyon, dead and vast, intensified by our breathless earstrain. Tenlong palpitating seconds and no sound! I gave up. The distance was toogreat for sound to reach us. Fifteen seconds--seventeen--eighteen--

With that a puff of air seemed to rise, and on it the most awfulbellow of thunderous roar. It rolled up and widened, deadened to burstout and roll louder, then slowly, like mountains on wheels, rumbledunder the rim-walls, passing on and on, to roar back in echo from thecliffs of the mesas. Roar and rumble--roar and rumble! for two longmoments the dull and hollow echoes rolled at us, to die away slowly inthe far-distant canyons. 

"That's a darned deep hole, " commented Jones. 

Twilight stole down on us idling there, silent, content to watch thered glow pass away from the buttes and peaks, the color deepeningdownward to meet the ebon shades of night creeping up like a darktide. 

On turning toward the camp we essayed a short cut, which brought us toa deep hollow with stony walls, which seemed better to go around. Thehollow, however, was quite long and we decided presently to cross it. We descended a little way when Jones suddenly barred my progress withhis big arm. 

"Listen, " he whispered. 

It was quiet in the woods; only a faint breeze stirred the pineneedles; and the weird, gray darkness seemed to be approaching underthe trees. 

I heard the patter of light, hard hoofs on the scaly sides of thehollow. 

"Deer?" I asked my companion in a low voice. 

"Yes; see, " he replied, pointing ahead, "just right under that brokenwall of rock; right there on this side; they're going down. "

I descried gray objects the color of the rocks, moving down likeshadows. 

"Have they scented us?"

"Hardly; the breeze is against us. Maybe they heard us break a twig. They've stopped, but they are not looking our way. Now I wonder--"

Rattling of stones set into movement by some quick, sharp action, anindistinct crash, but sudden, as of the impact of soft, heavy bodies, a strange wild sound preceded in rapid succession violent brushingsand thumpings in the scrub of the hollow. 

"Lion jumped a deer, " yelled Jones. "Right under our eyes! Come on!Hi! Hi! Hi!"

He ran down the incline yelling all of the way, and I kept close tohim, adding my yells to his, and gripping my revolver. Toward thebottom the thicket barred our progress so that we had to smash throughand I came out a little ahead of Jones. And farther up the hollow Isaw a gray swiftly bounding object too long and too low for a deer, and I hurriedly shot six times at it. 

"By George! Come here, " called my companion. "How's this for quickwork? It's a yearling doe. "

In another moment I leaned over a gray mass huddled at Jones feet. Itwas a deer gasping and choking. I plainly heard the wheeze of bloodin its throat, and the sound, like a death-rattle, affected mepowerfully. Bending closer, I saw where one side of the neck, lowdown, had been terribly lacerated. 

"Waa-hoo!" pealed down the slope. 

"That's Emett, " cried Jones, answering the signal. "If you haveanother shot put this doe out of agony. "

But I had not a shot left, nor did either of us have a clasp knife. We stood there while the doe gasped and quivered. The peculiar sound, probably made by the intake of air through the laceration of thethroat, on the spur of the moment seemed pitifully human. 

I felt that the struggle for life and death in any living thing wasa horrible spectacle. With great interest I had studied naturalselection, the variability of animals under different conditions ofstruggling existence, the law whereby one animal struck down anddevoured another. But I had never seen and heard that law enacted onsuch a scale; and suddenly I abhorred it. 

Emett strode to us through the gathering darkness. 

"What's up?" he asked quickly. 

He carried my Remington in one hand and his Winchester in the other;and he moved so assuredly and loomed up so big in the dusk that Iexperienced a sudden little rush of feeling as to what his adventmight mean at a time of real peril. 

[Illustration: JONES ABOUT TO LASSO A MOUNTAIN LION]

[Illustration: REMAINS OF A DEER KILLED BY LIONS]

"Emett, I've lived to see many things, " replied Jones, "but this isthe first time I ever saw a lion jump a deer right under my nose!"

As Emett bent over to seize the long ears of the deer, I noticed thegasping had ceased. 

"Neck broken, " he said, lifting the head. "Well, I'm danged. Must havebeen an all-fired strong lion. He'll come back, you may be sure ofthat. Let's skin out the quarters and hang the carcass up in a tree!"

We returned to camp in a half an hour, the richer for our walk by aquantity of fresh venison. Upon being acquainted with our adventure, Jim expressed himself rather more fairly than was his customary way. 

"Shore that beats hell! I knowed there was a lion somewheres, becauseDon wouldn't lie down. I'd like to get a pop at the brute. "

I believed Jim's wish found an echo in all our hearts. At any rateto hear Emett and Jones express regret over the death of the doejustified in some degree my own feelings, and I thought it was notso much the death, but the lingering and terrible manner of it, andespecially how vividly it connoted the wild-life drama of the plateau. The tragedy we had all but interrupted occurred every night, perhapsoften in the day and likely at different points at the same time. Emett told how he had found fourteen piles of bleached bones and driedhair in the thickets of less than a mile of the hollow on which wewere encamped. 

"We'll rope the danged cats, boys, or we'll kill them. "

"It's blowing cold. Hey, Navvy, _coco! coco!_" called Emett. 

The Indian, carefully laying aside his cigarette, kicked up the fireand threw on more wood. 

"_Discass!_ (cold), " he said to me. "_Coco, bueno_ (fire good). "

I replied, "Me savvy--yes. "

"Sleep-ie?" he asked. 

"Mucha, " I returned. 

While we carried on a sort of novel conversation full of Navajo, English, and gestures, darkness settled down black. I saw the starsdisappear; the wind changing to the north grew colder and carrieda breath of snow. I like north wind best--from under the warmblankets--because of the roar and lull and lull and roar in the pines. Crawling into the bed presently, I lay there and listened to therising storm-wind for a long time. Sometimes it swelled and crashedlike the sound of a breaker on the beach, but mostly, from a lowincessant moan, it rose and filled to a mighty rush, then suddenlylulled. This lull, despite a wakeful, thronging mind, was conducive tosleep. 

IV

To be awaked from pleasant dreams is the lot of man. The Navajoaroused me with his singing, and when I peeped languidly from underthe flap of my sleeping bag, I felt a cold air and saw fleecy flakesof white drifting through the small window of my tent. 

"Snow; by all that's lucky!" I exclaimed, remembering Jones' hopes. Straightway my langour vanished and getting into my boots and coat Iwent outside. Navvy's bed lay in six inches of snow. The forest wasbeautifully white. A fine dazzling snow was falling. I walked to theroaring camp-fire. Jim's biscuits, well-browned and of generoussize, had just been dumped into the middle of our breakfast cloth, atarpaulin spread on the ground; the coffee pot steamed fragrantly, anda Dutch oven sizzled with a great number of slices of venison. "Didyou hear the Indian chanting?" asked Jones, who sat with his hornyhands to the blaze. 

"I heard his singing. "

"No, it wasn't a song; the Navajo never sings in the morning. What youheard was his morning prayer, a chant, a religious and solemn ritualto the break of day. Emett says it is a custom of the desert tribe. You remember how we saw the Mokis sitting on the roofs of their littleadobe huts in the gray of the morning. They always greet the sun inthat way. The Navajos chant. "

It certainly was worth remembering, I thought, and mentally observedthat I would wake up thereafter and listen to the Indian. 

"Good luck and bad!" went on Jones. "Snow is what we want, but now wecan't find the scent of our lion of last night. "

Low growls and snarls attracted me. Both our captives presented sorryspectacles; they were wet, dirty, bedraggled. Emett had chopped down asmall pine, the branches of which he was using to make shelter for thelions. While I looked on Tom tore his to pieces several times, but thelioness crawled under hers and began licking her chops. At lengthTom, seeing that Emett meant no underhand trick, backed out of thedrizzling snow and lay down. 

Emett had already constructed a shack for the hounds. It was a way ofhis to think of everything. He had the most extraordinary ability. Astroke of his axe, a twist of his great hands, a turn of this or thatmade camp a more comfortable place. And if something, no matter what, got out of order or broken, there was Emett to show what it was to bea man of the desert. It had been my good fortune to see many ablemen on the trail and round the camp-fire, but not one of them evenapproached Emett's class. When I said a word to him about his knackwith things, his reply was illuminating: "I'm fifty-eight, and fourout of every five nights of my life I have slept away from home on theground. "

"_Chineago!_" called Jim, who had begun with all of us to assimilate alittle of the Navajo's language. 

Whereupon we fell to eating with appetite unknown to any save hunters. Somehow the Indian had gravitated to me at meal times, and now he satcross-legged beside me, holding out his plate and looking as hungry asMoze. At first he had always asked for the same kind of food thatI happened to have on my own plate. When I had finished and had nodesire to eat more, he gave up his faculty of imitation and asked foranything he could get. The Navajo had a marvelous appetite. He likedsweet things, sugar best of all. It was a fatal error to let him gethis hands on a can of fruit. Although he inspired Jones with disgustand Jim with worse, he was a source of unfailing pleasure to me. Hecalled me "Mista Gay" and he pronounced the words haltingly in lowvoice and with unmistakable respect. 

"What's on for today?" queried Emett. 

"I guess we may as well hang around camp and rest the hounds, " repliedJones. "I did intend to go after the lion that killed the deer, butthis snow has taken away the scent. "

"Shore it'll stop snowin' soon, " said Jim. 

The falling snow had thinned out and looked like flying powder; theleaden clouds, rolling close to the tree-tops, grew brighter andbrighter; bits of azure sky shone through rifts. 

Navvy had tramped off to find the horses, and not long after hisdeparture he sent out a prolonged yell that echoed through the forest. 

"Something's up, " said Emett instantly. "An Indian never yells likethat at a horse. "

[Illustration: A LION TIED]

[Illustration: FIGHTING WEETAHS (BUFFALO BULLS) ON BUFFALO JONES'SDESERT RANCH]

We waited quietly for a moment, expecting to hear the yell repeated. It was not, though we soon heard the jangle of bells, which told us hehad the horses coming. He appeared off to the right, riding Foxie andracing the others toward camp. 

"Cougie--mucha big--dam!" he said leaping off the mustang to confrontus. 

"Emett, does he mean he saw a cougar or a track?" questioned Jones. 

"Me savvy, " replied the Indian. "_Butteen, butteen_!"

"He says, trail--trail, " put in Emett. "I guess I'd better go andsee. "

"I'll go with you, " said Jones. "Jim, keep the hounds tight and hurrywith the horses' oats. "

We followed the tracks of the horses which lead southwest toward therim, and a quarter of a mile from camp we crossed a lion trail runningat right angles with our direction. 

"Old Sultan!" I cried, breathlessly, recognizing that the tracks hadbeen made by a giant lion we had named Sultan. They were huge, round, and deep, and with my spread hand I could not reach across one ofthem. 

Without a word, Jones strode off on the trail. It headed east andafter a short distance turned toward camp. I suppose Jones knew whatthe lion had been about, but to Emett and me it was mystifying. Twohundred yards from camp we came to a fallen pine, the body of whichwas easily six feet high. On the side of this log, almost on top, weretwo enormous lion tracks, imprinted in the mantle of snow. From herethe trail led off northeast. 

"Darn me!" ejaculated Jones. "The big critter came right into camp; hescented our lions, and raised up on this log to look over. "

Wheeling, he started for camp on the trot. Emett and I kept evenwith him. Words were superfluous. We knew what was coming. Amade--to--order lion trail could not have equalled the one right inthe back yard of our camp. 

"Saddle up!" said Jones, with the sharp inflection of words that hadcome to thrill me. "Jim, Old Sultan has taken a look at us since breakof day. "

I got into my chaps, rammed my little automatic into its saddleholster and mounted. Foxie seemed to want to go. The hounds came outof their sheds and yawned, looking at us knowingly. Emett spoke a wordto the Navajo, and then we were trotting down through the forest. Thesun had broken out warm, causing water to drip off the snow ladenpines. The three of us rode close behind Jones, who spoke low andsternly to the hounds. 

What an opportunity to watch Don! I wondered how soon he would catchthe scent of the trail. He led the pack as usual and kept to aleisurely dog--trot. When within twenty yards of the fallen log, hestopped for an instant and held up his head, though without exhibitingany suspicion or uneasiness. 

The wind blew strong at our backs, a circumstance that probablykept Don so long in ignorance of the trail. A few yards further on, however, he stopped and raised his fine head. He lowered it andtrotted on only to stop again. His easy air of satisfaction withthe morning suddenly vanished. His savage hunting instinct awakenedthrough some channel to raise the short yellow hair on his neck andshoulders and make it stand stiff. He stood undecided with warilyshifting nose, then jumped forward with a yelp. Another jump broughtanother sharp cry from him. Sounder, close behind, echoed the yelp. Jude began to whine. Then Don, with a wild howl, leaped ten feet toalight on the lion trail and to break into wonderfully rapid flight. The seven other hounds, bunched in a black and yellow group, toreafter him filling the forest with their wild uproar. 

Emett's horse bounded as I have seen a great racer leave the post, andhis desert brothers, loving wild bursts of speed, needing no spur, kept their noses even with his flanks. The soft snow, not too deep, rather facilitated than impeded this wild movement, and the openforest was like a highway. 

So we rode, bending low in the saddle, keen eyes alert for branches, vaulting the white--blanketed logs, and swerving as we split to passthe pines. The mist from the melting snow moistened our faces, and therushing air cooled them with fresh, soft sensation. There were momentswhen we rode abreast and others when we sailed single file, with whiteground receding, vanishing behind us. 

My feeling was one of glorious excitation in the swift, smooth flightand a grim assurance of soon seeing the old lion. But I hoped we wouldnot rout him too soon from under a windfall, or a thicket where hehad dragged a deer, because the race was too splendid a thing to cutshort. Through my mind whirled with inconceivable rapidity the greatlion chases on which we had ridden the year before. And this wasanother chase, only more stirring, more beautiful, because it was thenature of the thing to grow always with experience. 

Don slipped out of sight among the pines. The others strung along thetrail, glinted across the sunlit patches. The black pup was neck andneck with Ranger. Sounder ran at their heels, leading the other pups. Moze dashed on doggedly ahead of Jude. 

But for us to keep to the open forest, close to the hounds, was not inthe nature of a lion chase. Old Sultan's trail turned due west when hebegan to go down the little hollows and their intervening ridges. Welost ground. The pack left us behind. The slope of the plateau becamedecided. We rode out of the pines to find the snow failing in theopen. Water ran in little gullies and glistened on the sagebrush. Ahalf mile further down the snow had gone. We came upon the houndsrunning at fault, except Sounder, and he had given up. 

"All over, " sang out Jones, turning his horse. "The lion's track andhis scent have gone with the snow. I reckon we'll do as well to waituntil to-morrow. He's down in the middle wing somewhere and it is myidea we might catch his trail as he comes back. "

The sudden dashing aside of our hopes was exasperating. There seemedno help for it; abrupt ending to exciting chases were but features ofthe lion hunt. The warm sun had been hours on the lower end of theplateau, where the snow never lay long; and even if we found a freshmorning trail in the sand, the heat would have burned out the scent. 

So rapidly did the snow thaw that by the time we reached camp only theshady patches were left. 

It was almost eleven o'clock when I lay down on my bed to rest awhileand fell asleep. The tramp of a horse awakened me. I heard Jim callingJones. Thinking it was time to eat I went out. The snow had alldisappeared and the forest was brown as ever. Jim sat on his horse andNavvy appeared riding up to the hollow, leading the saddle horses. 

"Jones, get out, " called Jim. 

"Can't you let a fellow sleep? I'm not hungry, " replied Jones testily. 

"Get out and saddle up, " continued Jim. 

Jones burst out of his tent, with rumpled hair and sleepy eyes. 

"I went over to see the carcass of the deer an' found a lion sittin'up in the tree, feedin' for all he was worth. Pie jumped out an' ranup the hollow an' over the rim. So I rustled back for you fellows. Lively now, we'll get this one sure. "

"Was it the big fellow?" I asked

"No, but he ain't no kitten; an' he's a fine color, sort of reddish. Inever seen one just as bright. Where's Emett?"

"I don't know. He was here a little while ago. Shall I signal forhim?"

"Don't yell, " cried Jones holding up his fingers. "Be quiet now. "

Without another word we finished saddling, mounted and, closetogether, with the hounds in front, rode through the forest toward therim. 

V

We rode in different directions toward the hollow, the better tochance meeting with Emett, but none of us caught a glimpse of him. 

It happened that when we headed into the hollow it was at a point justabove where the deer carcass hung in the scrub oak. Don in spite ofJones' stern yells, let out his eager hunting yelp and darted down theslope. The pack bolted after him and in less than ten seconds wereracing up the hollow, their thrilling, blending bays a welcome spur toaction. Though I spoke not a word to my mustang nor had time to raisethe bridle, he wheeled to one side and began to run. The other horsesalso kept to the ridge, as I could tell by the pounding of hoofs onthe soft turf. The hounds in full cry right under us urged our goodsteeds to a terrific pace. It was well that the ridge afforded cleargoing. 

The speed at which we traveled, however, fast as it was, availed notto keep up with the pack. In a short half mile, just as the hollowsloped and merged into level ground, they left us behind anddisappeared so quickly as almost to frighten me. My mustang plungedout of the forest to the rim and dashed along, apparently unmindful ofthe chasm. The red and yellow surface blurred in a blinding glare. Iheard the chorus of hounds, but as its direction baffled me I trustedto my horse and I did well, for soon he came to a dead halt on therim. 

Then I heard the hounds below me. I had but time to see the characterof the place--long, yellow promontories running out and slopes ofweathered stone reaching up between to a level with the rim--when in adwarf pine growing just over the edge I caught sight of a long, red, pantherish body. 

I whooped to my followers now close upon me and leaping off hauled outmy Remington and ran to the cliff. The lion's long, slender body, of arare golden-red color, bright, clean, black-tipped and white-bellied, proclaimed it a female of exceeding beauty. I could have touched herwith a fishing rod and saw how easily she could be roped from where Istood. The tree in which she had taken refuge grew from the head ofa weathered slope and rose close to the wall. At that point it wasmerely a parapet of crumbling yellow rock. No doubt she had lainconcealed under the shelving wall and had not had time to get awaybefore the hounds were right upon her. 

"She's going to jump, " yelled Jones, in my rear, as he dismounted. 

I saw a golden-red streak flash downward, heard a mad medley from thehounds, a cloud of dust rose, then something bright shone for a secondto the right along the wall. I ran with all my might to a headland ofrock upon which I scrambled and saw with joy that I could command thesituation. 

The lioness was not in sight, nor were the hounds. The latter, however, were hot on the trail. I knew the lioness had taken toanother tree or a hole under the wall, and would soon be routed out. This time I felt sure she would run down and I took a rapid glancebelow. The slope inclined at a steep angle and was one long slide ofbits of yellow stone with many bunches of scrub oak and manzanita. Those latter I saw with satisfaction, because in case I had to go downthey would stop the little avalanches. The slope reached down perhapsfive hundred yards and ended in a thicket and jumble of rocks fromwhich rose on the right a bare yellow slide. This ran up to a lowcliff. I hoped the lion would not go that way, for it led to greatbroken battlements of rim. Left of the slide was a patch of cedars. 

Jim's yell pealed out, followed by the familiar penetrating howl ofthe pack when it sighted game. With that I saw the lioness leapingdown the slope and close behind her a yellow hound. 

"Go it, Don, old boy!" I yelled, wild with delight. 

A crushing step on the stones told me Jones had arrived. 

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" roared he. 

I thought then that if the lioness did not cover thirty feet at everyjump I was not in a condition to judge distance. She ran away from Donas if he had been tied and reached the thicket below a hundred yardsahead of him. And when Don leaving his brave pack far up the slideentered the thicket the lioness came out on the other side and boundedup the bare slope of yellow shale. 

"Shoot ahead of her! Head her off! Turn her back!" cried Jones. 

With the word I threw forward the Remington and let drive. Followingthe bellow of the rifle, so loud in that thin air, a sharp, harshreport cracked up from below. A puff of yellow dust rose in front ofthe lioness. I was in line, but too far ahead. I fired again. Thesteel jacketed bullet hit a stone and spitefully whined away into thecanyon. I tried once more. This time I struck close to the lioness. Disconcerted by a cloud of dust rising before her very eyes shewheeled and ran back. 

We had forgotten Don and suddenly he darted out of the thicket, straight up the slide. Always, in every chase, we were afraid thegreat hound would run to meet his death. We knew it was comingsometime. When the lioness saw him and stopped, both Jones and I feltthat this was to be the end of Don. 

"Shoot her! Shoot her!" cried Jones. "She'll kill him! She'll killhim!"

As I knelt on the rock I had a hard contraction of my throat, andthen all my muscles set tight and rigid. I pulled the trigger of myautomatic once, twice. It was wonderful how closely the two bulletsfollowed each other, as we could tell by the almost simultaneouspuffs of dust rising from under the beast's nose. She must have beenshowered and stung with gravel, for she bounded off to the left anddisappeared in the cedars. I had missed, but the shots had served to abetter end than if I had killed her. 

As Don raced up the ground where a moment before a battle and probablydeath had awaited him, the other hounds burst from the thicket. Withthat, a golden form seemed to stand out from the green of the cedar, to move and to rise. 

"She's treed! She's treed!" shouted Jones. "Go down and keep her therewhile I follow. "

From the back of the promontory where I met the main wall, I letmyself down a niche, foot here and there, a hand hard on the softstone, braced knee and back until I jumped to the edge of the slope. The scrub oak and manzanita saved me many a fall. I set some stonesrolling and I beat them to the bottom. Having passed the thicket, Ibent my efforts to the yellow slide and when I had surmounted it mybreath came in labored pants. The howling of the hounds guided methrough the cedars. 

First I saw Moze in the branches of cedar and above him the lioness. Iran out into a little open patch of stony ground at the end of whichthe tree stood leaning over a precipice. In truth the lioness wasswaying over a chasm. 

Those details I grasped in a glance, then suddenly awoke to the factthat the lioness was savagely snarling at Moze. 

"Moze! Moze! Get down!" I yelled. 

He climbed on serenely. He was a most exasperating dog. I screamed athim and hit him with a rock big enough to break his bones. He kept onclimbing. Here was a predicament. Moze would surely get to the lionessif I did not stop him, and this seemed impossible. It was out of thequestion for me to climb after him. And if the lioness jumped shewould have to pass me or come straight at me. So I slipped down thesafety catch on my automatic and stood ready to save Moze or myself. 

The lioness with a show of fury that startled me, descended her brancha few steps, and reaching below gave Moze a sounding smack with herbig paw. The hound dropped as if he had been shot and hit the groundwith a thud. Whereupon she returned to her perch. 

This reassured me and I ran among the dogs and caught Moze alreadystarting for the tree again and tied him, with a strap I always carried, to a small bush nearby. I heard the yells of my companionsand looking back over the tops of the cedars I saw Jim riding down andhigher to the left Jones sliding, falling, running at a great rate. Iencouraged them to keep up the good work, and then gave my attention tothe lioness. 

She regarded me with a cold, savage stare and showed her teeth. Irepaid this incivility on her part by promptly photographing her fromdifferent points. 

Jones and Jim were on the spot before I expected them and both weredusty and dripping with sweat. I found to my surprise that my face waswet as was also my shirt. Jones carried two lassos, and my canteen, which I had left on the promontory. 

"Ain't she a beauty?" he panted, wiping his face. "Wait--till I get mybreath. "

When finally he walked toward the cedar the lioness stood up andgrowled as if she realized the entrance of the chief actor upon thescene. Jones cast his lasso apparently to try her out, and the noosespread out and fell over her head. As he tightened the rope thelioness backed down behind a branch. 

"Tie the dogs!" yelled Jones. 

"Quick!" added Jim. "She's goin' to jump. "

Jim had only time to aid me in running my lasso under the collar ofDon, Sounder, Jude and one of the pups. I made them fast to a cedar. I got my hands on Ranger just as Moze broke his strap. I grabbed hiscollar and held on. 

Right there was where trouble commenced for me. Ranger tussled valiantlyand Moze pulled me all over the place. Behind me I heard Jones' roar andJim's yell; the breaking of branches, the howling of the other dogs. Ranger broke away from me and so enabled me to get my other hand on theneck of crazy Moze. On more than one occasion I had tried to hold himand had failed; this time I swore I would do it if he rolled meover the precipice. As to that, only a bush saved me. 

More and louder roars and yells, hoarser howls and sharperwrestling, snapping sounds told me what was going on while I tried tosubdue Moze. I had a grim thought that I would just as lief have hadhold of the lioness. The hound presently stopped his plunging which gaveme an opportunity to look about. The little space was smoky with a smokeof dust. I saw the lioness stretched out with one lasso around a bushand another around a cedar with the end in the hands of Jim. He lookedas if he had dug up the ground. While he tied this lasso securely Jonesproceeded to rope the dangerous front paws. 

The hounds quieted down and I took advantage of this absence of tumultto get rid of Moze. 

"Pretty lively, " said Jones, spitting gravel as I walked up. Sand anddust lay thick in his beard and blackened his face. "I tell you shemade us root. "

Either the lioness had been much weakened or choked, or Jones hadunusual luck, for we muzzled her and tied up her paws in short order. 

"Where's Ranger?" I asked suddenly, missing him from the pantinghounds. 

"I grabbed him by the heels when he tackled the lion, and I gave him asling somewheres, " replied Jim. 

Ranger put in an appearance then under the cedars limping painfully. 

"Jim, darn me, if I don't believe you pitched him over the precipice!"said Jones. 

Examination proved this surmise to be correct. We saw where Ranger hadslipped over a twenty-foot wall. If he had gone over just under thecedar where the depth was much greater he would never have come back. 

"The hounds are choking with dust and heat, " I said. When I pouredjust a little water from my canteen into the crown of my hat, thehounds began fighting around and over me and spilled the water. 

"Behave, you coyotes!" I yelled. Either they were insulted or fullyrealized the exigency of the situation, for each one came up andgratefully lapped every drop of his portion. 

"Shore, now comes the hell of it, " said Jim appearing with a longpole. "Packin' the critter out. "

An argument arose in regard to the best way up the slope, and byvirtue of a majority we decided to try the direction Jim and I thoughtbest. My companions led the way, carrying the lioness suspended on thepole. I brought up the rear, packing my rifle, camera, lasso, canteenand a chain. 

It was killing work. We had to rest every few steps. Often we wouldfall. Jim laughed, Jones swore, and I groaned. Sometimes I had to dropmy things to help my companions. So we toiled wearily up the loose, steep way. 

"What's she shakin' like that for?" asked Jim suddenly. 

Jones let down his end of the pole and turned quickly. Little tremorsquivered over the lissome body of the lioness. 

"She's dying, " cried Jim, jerking out the stick between her teeth andslipping off the wire muzzle. 

Her mouth opened and her frothy tongue lolled out. Jones pointed toher quivering sides and then raised her eyelids. We saw the eyesalready glazing, solemnly fixed. 

"She's gone, " he said. 

Very soon she lay inert and lifeless. Then we sat beside her withouta word, and we could hardly for the moment have been more stunned andheartbroken if it had been the tragic death of one of our kind. In that wild environment, obsessed by the desire to capture thosebeautiful cats alive, the fateful ending of the successful chase wasfelt out of all proportion. 

"Shore she's dead, " said Jim. "And wasn't she a beauty? What waswrong?"

"The heat and lack of water, " replied Jones. "She choked. What idiotswe were! Why didn't we think to give her a drink. "

So we passionately protested against our want of fore-thought, andlooked again and again with the hope that she might come to. But deathhad stilled the wild heart. We gave up presently, still did not moveon. We were exhausted, and all the while the hounds lay panting on therocks, the bees hummed, the flies buzzed. The red colors of the upperwalls and the purple shades of the lower darkened silently. 

VI

"Shore we can't set here all night, " said Jim. "Let's skin the lionan' feed the hounds. "

The most astonishing thing in our eventful day was the amount of meatstowed away by the dogs. Lion flesh appealed to their appetites. Ifhungry Moze had an ounce of meat, he had ten pounds. It seemed a goodopportunity to see how much the old gladiator could eat; and Jim and Icut chunks of meat as fast as possible. Moze gulped them with absoluteunconcern of such a thing as mastication. At length he reached hislimit, possibly for the first time in his life, and looking longinglyat a juicy red strip Jim held out, he refused it with manifest shame. Then he wobbled and fell down. 

We called to him as we started to climb the slope, but he did notcome. Then the business of conquering that ascent of sliding stoneabsorbed all our faculties and strength. Little headway could we havemade had it not been for the brush. We toiled up a few feet only toslide back and so it went on until we were weary of life. 

When one by one we at last gained the rim and sat there to recoverbreath, the sun was a half globe of fire burning over the westernramparts. A red sunset bathed the canyon in crimson, painting thewalls, tinting the shadows to resemble dropping mists of blood. It wasbeautiful and enthralling to my eyes, but I turned away because itwore the mantle of tragedy. 

Dispirited and worn out, we trooped into camp to find Emett and asteaming supper. Between bites the three of us related the story ofthe red lioness. Emett whistled long and low and then expressed hisregret in no light terms. 

"Roping wild steers and mustangs is play to this work, " he said inconclusion. 

I was too tired to tease our captive lions that evening; even theglowing camp-fire tempted me in vain, and I crawled into my bed witheyes already glued shut. 

A heavy weight on my feet stirred me from oblivion. At first, whenonly half awake, I could not realize what had fallen on my bed, thenhearing a deep groan I knew Moze had come back. I was dropping offagain when a strange, low sound caused my eyes to open wide. The blacknight had faded to the gray of dawn. The sound I recognized at onceto be the Navajo's morning chant. I lay there and listened. Soft andmonotonous, wild and swelling, but always low and strange, the savagesong to the break of day was exquisitely beautiful and harmonious. Iwondered what the literal meaning of his words could have been. Thesignificance needed no translation. To the black shadows fading away, to the brightening of the gray light, to the glow of the east, to themorning sun, to the Giver of Life--to these the Indian chanted hisprayer. 

Could there have been a better prayer? Pagan or not, the Navajo withhis forefathers felt the spiritual power of the trees, the rocks, thelight and sun, and he prayed to that which was divinely helpful to himin all the mystery of his unintelligible life. 

We did not crawl out that morning as early as usual, for it was to bea day of rest. When we did, a mooted question arose--whether we or thehounds were the more crippled. Ranger did not show himself; Don couldjust walk and that was all; Moze was either too full or too tired tomove; Sounder nursed a foot and Jude favored her lame leg. 

After lunch we brightened up somewhat and set ourselves differenttasks. Jones had misplaced or lost his wire and began to turn the camptopsy-turvy in his impatient efforts to locate it. The wire, however, was not to be found. This was a calamity, for, as we asked each other, how could we muzzle lions without wire? Moreover, a half dozen heavyleather straps which I had bought in Kanab for use as lion collars haddisappeared. We had only one collar left, the one that Jones had puton the red lioness. 

Whereupon we began to blame each other, to argue, to grow heated andnaturally from that to become angry. It seems a fatality of campersalong a wild trail, like explorers in an unknown land, to be prone tofight. If there is an explanation of this singular fact, it must bethat men at such time lose their poise and veneer of civilization; inbrief, they go back. At all events we had it hot and heavy, with thecenter of attack gradually focusing on Jones, and as he was alwayslosing something, naturally we united in force against him. 

Fortunately, we were interrupted by yells from the Navajo off in thewoods. The brushing of branches and pounding of hoofs preceded hisappearance. In some remarkable manner he had gotten a bridle on Marc, and from the way the big stallion hurled his huge bulk over logs andthrough thickets, it appeared evident he meant to usurp Jim's ambitionand kill the Navajo. Hearing Emett yell, the Indian turned Marc towardcamp. The horse slowed down when he neared the glade and tried tobuck. But Navvy kept his head up. With that Marc seemed to give way toungovernable rage and plunged right through camp; he knocked over thedogs' shelter and thundered down the ridge. 

Now the Navajo, with the bridle in his hand was thoroughly at home. Hewas getting his revenge on Marc, and he would have kept his seat on awild mustang, but Marc swerved suddenly under a low branch of a pine, sweeping the Indian off. 

When Navvy did not rise we began to fear he had been seriously hurt, perhaps killed, and we ran to where he lay. 

Face downward, hands outstretched, with no movement of body or muscle, he certainly appeared dead. 

"Badly hurt, " said Emett, "probably back broken. I have seen it beforefrom just such accidents. "

"Oh no!" cried Jones, and I felt so deeply I could not speak. Jim, whoalways wanted Navvy to be a dead Indian, looked profoundly sorry. 

"He's a dead Indian, all right, " replied Emett. 

We rose from our stooping postures and stood around, uncertain anddeeply grieved, until a mournful groan from Navvy afforded us muchrelief. 

"That's your dead Indian, " exclaimed Jones. 

Emett stooped again and felt the Indian's back and got in rewardanother mournful groan. 

"It's his back, " said Emett, and true to his ruling passion, foreverto minister to the needs of horses, men, and things, he began to rubthe Indian and call for the liniment. 

[Illustration: TREED LION]

[Illustration: TREED LION]

Jim went to fetch it, while I, still believing the Navvy to bedangerously hurt, knelt by him and pulled up his shirt, exposing thehollow of his brown back. 

"Here we are, " said Jim, returning on the run with the bottle. 

"Pour some on, " replied Emett. 

Jim removed the cork and soused the liniment all over the Indian'sback. 

"Don't waste it, " remonstrated Emett, starting to rub Navvy's back. 

Then occurred a most extraordinary thing. A convulsion seemed toquiver through the Indian's body; he rose at a single leap, anduttering a wild, piercing yell broke into a run. I never saw an Indianor anybody else run so fleetly. Yell after yell pealed back to us. 

Absolutely dumfounded we all gazed at each other. 

"That's your dead Indian!" ejaculated Jim. 

"What the hell!" exclaimed Emett, who seldom used such language. 

"Look here!" cried Jones, grabbing the bottle. "See! Don't you seeit?"

Jim fell face downward and began to shake. 

"What?" shouted Emett and I together. 

"Turpentine, you idiots! Turpentine! Jim brought the wrong bottle!"

In another second three more forms lay stretched out on the sward, andthe forest rang with sounds of mirth. 

VII

That night the wind switched and blew cold from the north, and sostrong that the camp-fire roared like a furnace. "More snow" was theverdict of all of us, and in view of this, I invited the Navajo toshare my tent. 

"Sleepie-me, " I said to him. 

"Me savvy, " he replied and forthwith proceeded to make his bed withme. 

Much to my surprise all my comrades raised protestations, whichstruck me as being singularly selfish considering they would not beinconvenienced in any way. 

"Why not?" I asked. "It's a cold night. There'll be frost if notsnow. "

"Shore you'll get 'em, " said Jim. 

"There never was an Indian that didn't have 'em, " added Jones. 

"What?" I questioned. 

They made mysterious signs that rather augmented my ignorance as towhat I might get from the Indian, but in no wise changed my mind. WhenI went to bed I had to crawl over Navvy. Moze lay at my feet as usualand he growled so deep that I could not but think he, too, resentedthe addition to my small tent. 

"Mista Gay!" came in the Indian's low voice. 

"Well Navvy?" I asked. 

"Sleepie--sleepie?"

"Yes, Navvy, sleepy and tired. Are you?"

"Me savvy--mucha sleepie--mucha--no bueno. "

I did not wonder at his feeling sleepy, tired and bad. He did notawaken me in the morning, for when my eyes unclosed the tent was lightand he had gone. I found my companions up and doing. 

We had breakfast and got into our saddles by the time the sun, a redball low down among the pines, began to brighten and turn to gold. Nosnow had fallen but a thick frost encrusted the ground. The hounds, wearing cloth moccasins, which plainly they detested, trotted infront. Don showed no effects of his great run down the sliding slopeafter the red lioness; it was one of his remarkable qualities that herecuperated so quickly. Ranger was a little stiff, and Sounder favoredhis injured foot. The others were as usual. 

Jones led down the big hollow to which he kept after we had passed theedge of the pines; then marking a herd of deer ahead, he turned hishorse up the bank. 

We breasted the ridge and jogged toward the cedar forest, which weentered without having seen the hounds show interest in anything. Under the cedars in the soft yellow dust we crossed lion tracks, manyof them, but too old to carry a scent. Even North Hollow with itsregular beaten runway failed to win a murmur from the pack. 

"Spread out, " said Jones, "and look for tracks. I'll keep the centerand hold in the hounds. "

Signalling occasionally to one another we crossed almost the breadthof the cedar forest to its western end, where the open sage flatsinclined to the rim. In one of those flats I came upon a broken sagebush, the grass being thick thereabout. I discovered no track butdismounted and scrutinized the surroundings carefully. A heavy bodyhad been dragged across the sage, crushing it. The ends of brokenbushes were green, the leaves showed bruises. 

I began to feel like Don when he scented game. Leading my mustang Islowly proceeded across the open, guided by an occasional down-troddenbush or tuft of grass. As I neared the cedars again Foxie snorted. Under the first tree I found a ghastly bunch of red bones, a spread ofgrayish hairs and a split skull. The bones, were yet wet; two long doeears were still warm. Then I saw big lion tracks in the dust and evena well pressed imprint of a lion's body where he had rolled or lain. 

The two yells I sent ringing into the forest were productive ofinteresting results. Answers came from near and far. Then, what withmy calling and the replies, the forest rang so steadily with shrillcries that the echoes had no chance to follow. 

An elephant in the jungle could not have caused more crashing andbreaking of brush than did Emett as he made his way to me. He arrivedfrom the forest just as Jim galloped across the flat. Mutely I held upthe two long ears. 

"Get on your horse!" cried Jim after one quick glance at the spread ofbones and hair. 

It was well he said that, for I might have been left behind. I ran toFoxie and vaulted upon him. A flash of yellow appeared among the sageand a string of yelps split the air. 

"It's Don!" yelled Jim. 

Well we knew that. What a sight to see him running straight for us! Hepassed, a savage yellow wolf in his ferocity, and disappeared like agleam under the gloomy cedars. 

We spurred after him. The other hounds sped by. Jones closed in on usfrom the left, and in a few minutes we were strung out behind Emett, fighting the branches, dodging and swerving, hugging the saddle, andalways sending out our sharp yells. 

The race was furious but short. The three of us coming up togetherfound Emett dismounted on the extreme end of West Point. 

"The hounds have gone down, " he said, pointing to the runway. 

We all listened to the meaning bays. 

"Shore they've got him up!" asserted Jim. "Like as not they found himunder the rim here, sleeping off his gorge. Now fellows, I'll go down. It might be a good idea for you to spread along the rim. "

[Illustration: TREED LION]

[Illustration: HIDING]

With that we turned our horses eastward and rode as close to the rimas possible. Clumps of cedars and deep fissures often forced us tocircle them. The hounds, traveling under the walls below, kept pacewith us and then forged ahead, which fact caused Jones to dispatchEmett on the gallop for the next runway at North Hollow. 

Soon Jones bade me dismount and make my way out upon one of thepromontories, while he rode a little farther on. As I tied my mustangI heard the hounds, faint and far beneath. I waded through the sageand cedar to the rim. 

Cape after cape jutted out over the abyss. Some were very sharp andbare, others covered with cedar; some tottering crags with a crumblingbridge leading to their rims; and some ran down like giant steps. Fromone of these I watched below. The slope here under the wall was likethe side of a rugged mountain. Somewhere down among the dark patchesof cedar and the great blocks of stone the hounds were hunting thelion, but I could not see one of them. 

The promontory I had chosen had a split, and choked as this was withbrush, rock, and shale, it seemed a place where I might climb down. Once started, I could not turn back, and sliding, clinging to whatafforded, I worked down the crack. A wall of stone hid the sky fromme part of the way. I came out a hundred feet below upon a secondpromontory of huge slabs of yellow stone. Over these I clambered, tosit with my feet swinging over the last one. 

Straight before my gaze yawned the awful expanse of the canyon. In thesoft morning light the red mesas, the yellow walls, the black domeswere less harsh than in the full noonday sun, purer than in the tendershadow of twilight. Below me were slopes and slides divided by ravinesfull of stones as large as houses, with here and there a lonesomeleaning crag, giving irresistible proof of the downward trend, of therolling, weathering ruins of the rim. Above the wall bulged out fullof fissures, ragged and rotten shelves, toppling columns of yellowlimestone, beaded with quartz and colored by wild flowers wonderfullygrowing in crannies. 

Wild and rare as was this environment, I gave it but a glance and athought. The bay of the hounds caused me to bend sharp and eager eyesto the open spaces of stone and slide below. Luck was mine as usual;the hounds were working up toward me. How I strained my sight! Hearinga single cry I looked eastward to see Jones silhouetted against theblue on a black promontory. He seemed a giant primeval man overlookingthe ruin of a former world. I signalled him to make for my point. 

Black Ranger hove in sight at the top of a yellow slide. He was atfault but hunting hard. Jude and Sounder bayed off to his left. Iheard Don's clear voice, permeating the thin, cool air, seeminglyto leave a quality of wildness upon it; yet I could not locate him. Ranger disappeared. Then for a time I only heard Jim. Moze was next toappear and he, too, was upward bound. A jumble of stone hid him, andthen Ranger again showed. Evidently he wanted to get around the bottomof a low crag, for he jumped and jumped only to fall back. 

Quite naturally my eyes searched that crag. Stretched out upon the topof it was the long, slender body of a lion. 

"Hi! hi! hi! hi! hi!" I yelled till my lungs failed me. 

"Where are you?" came from above. 

"Here! Here!" I cried seeing Jones on the rim. "Come down. Climb downthe crack. The lion is here; on top of that round crag. He's fooledthe hounds and they can't find him. "

"I see him! I see him!" yelled Jones. Then he roared out a single callfor Emett that pealed like a clear clarion along the curved broken rimwall, opening up echoes which clapped like thunder. 

While Jones clattered down I turned again to the lion. He lay withhead hidden under a little shelf and he moved not a muscle. What aplace for him to choose! But for my accidental venturing down thebroken fragments and steps of the rim he could have remained safe frompursuit. 

Suddenly, right under my feet, Don opened his string of yelps. I couldnot see him but decided he must be above the lion on the crag. Ileaned over as far as I dared. At that moment among the varied andthrilling sounds about me I became vaguely aware of hard, pantingbreaths, like coughs somewhere in my vicinity. As Jones had set inmotion bushels of stone and had already scraped his feet over therocks behind me I thought the forced respiration came from him. WhenI turned he was yet far off--too far for me to hear him breathe. Ithought this circumstance strange but straightway forgot it. 

On the moment from my right somewhere Don pealed out his bugle blast, and immediately after Sounder and Jude joining him, sent up the thricewelcome news of a treed lion. 

"There 're two! There 're two!" I yelled to Jones, now working down tomy right. 

"He's treed down here. I've got him spotted!" replied Jones. "You staythere and watch your lion. Yell for Emett. "

Signal after signal for Emett earned no response, though Jim far belowto the left sent me an answer. 

The next few minutes, or more likely half an hour, passed with Jonesand me separated from each other by a wall of broken stone, waitingimpatiently for Jim and Emett, while the hounds bayed one lion and Iwatched the other. 

Calmness was impossible under such circumstances. No man could havegazed into that marvel of color and distance, with wild life abouthim, with wild sounds ringing in his ears, without yielding to thethrob and race of his wild blood. 

Emett did not come. Jim had not answered a yell for minutes. No doubthe needed his breath. He came into sight just to the left of ourposition, and he ran down one side of the ravine to toil up the other. I hailed him, Jones hailed him and the hounds hailed him. 

"Steer to your left Jim!" I called. . "There's a lion on that cragabove you. He might jump. Round the cliff to the left--Jones isthere!"

The most painful task it was for me to sit there and listen to thesound rising from below without being able to see what happened. Mylion had peeped up once, and, seeing me, had crouched closer to hiscrag, evidently believing he was unseen, which obviously made itimperative for me to keep my seat and hold him there as long aspossible. 

But to hear the various exclamations thrilled me enough. 

"Hyar Moze--get out of that. Catch him--hold him! Damn these rottenlimbs. Hand me a pole--Jones, back down--back down! he's comin'--Hi!Hi! Whoop! Boo--o! There--now you've got him! No, no; it slipped! Now!Look out, Jim, from under--he's going to jump!"

A smashing and rattling of loose stones and a fiery burst of yelpswith trumpet-like yells followed close upon Jones' last words. Thentwo yellow streaks leaped down the ravine. The first was the lion, thesecond was Don. The rest of the pack came tumbling helter-skelter intheir wake. Following them raced Jim in long kangaroo leaps, withJones in the rear, running for all he was worth. The animatedand musical procession passed up out of the ravine and graduallylengthened as the lion gained and Jones lost, till it passedaltogether from my jealous sight. 

On the other side of the ridge of cedars the hounds treed their quarryagain, as was easy to tell by their change from sharp intermittentyelping to an unbroken, full, deep chorus. Then presently all quieteddown, and for long moments at a time the still silence enfolded theslope. Shouts now and then floated up on the wind and an occasionalbark. 

I sat there for an hour by my watch, though it seemed only a fewminutes, and all that time my lion lay crouched on his crag and nevermoved. 

I looked across the curve of the canyon to the purple breaks of theSiwash and the shaggy side of Buckskin Mountain and far beyond towhere Kanab Canyon opened its dark mouth, and farther still to thePink Cliffs of Utah, weird and dim in the distance. 

Something swelled within my breast at the thought that for the time Iwas part of that wild scene. The eye of an eagle soaring above wouldhave placed me as well as my lion among the few living things in therange of his all-compassing vision. Therefore, all was mine, notmerely the lion--for he was only the means to an end--but thestupendous, unnameable thing beneath me, this chasm that hid mountainsin the shades of its cliffs, and the granite tombs, some gleamingpale, passionless, others red and warm, painted by a master hand; andthe wind-caves, dark-portaled under their mist curtains, and allthat was deep and far off, unapproachable, unattainable, of beautyexceeding, dressed in ever-changing hues, was mine by right ofpresence, by right of the eye to see and the mind to keep. 

"Waa-hoo!"

The cry lifted itself out of the depths. I saw Jones on the ridge ofcedars. 

"All right here--have you kept your line there?" he yelled. 

"All's well--come along, come along, " I replied. 

I watched them coming, and all the while my lion never moved. Thehounds reached the base of the cliff under me, but they could notfind the lion, though they scented him, for they kept up a continualbaying. Jim got up to the shelf under me and said they had tied up thelion and left him below. Jones toiled slowly up the slope. 

"Some one ought to stay down there; he might jump, " I called inwarning. 

"That crag is forty feet high on this side, " he replied. 

I clambered back over the uneven mass, let myself down between theboulders and crawled under a dark ridge, and finally with Jim catchingmy rifle and camera and then lending his shoulders, I reached thebench below. Jones came puffing around a corner of the cliff, and soonall three of us with the hounds stood out on the rocky shelf with onlya narrow space between us and the crouching lion. 

Before we had a moment to speak, much less form a plan of attack, thelion rose, spat at us defiantly, and deliberately jumped off the crag. We heard him strike with a frightful thud. 

Surprise held us dumb. To take the leap to the slope below seemedbeyond any beast not endowed with wings. We saw the lion bounding downthe identical trail which the other lion had taken. Jones came out ofhis momentary indecision. 

"Hold the dogs! Call them back!" he yelled hoarsely. "They'll kill thelion we tied! They'll kill him!"

The hounds had scattered off the bench here and there, everywhere, tocome together on the trail below. Already they were in full cry withthe matchless Don at the fore. Manifestly to call them back was aninjustice, as well as impossible. In ten seconds they were out ofsight. 

In silence we waited, each listening, each feeling the tragedy of thesituation, each praying that they would pass by the poor, helpless, bound lion. Suddenly the regular baying swelled to a burst of savage, snarling fury, such as the pack made in a vicious fight. Thisceased--short silence ensued; Don's sharp voice woke the echoes, thenthe regular baying continued. 

As with one thought, we all sat down. Painful as the certainty was itwas not so painful as that listening, hoping suspense. 

"Shore they can't be blamed, " said Jim finally. "Bumping their noseinto a tied lion that way--how'd they know?"

"Who could guess the second lion would jump off that quick and runback to our captive?" burst out Jones. 

"Shore we might have knowed it, " replied Jim. "Well, I'm goin' afterthe pack. "

He gathered up his lasso and strode off the bench. Jones said he wouldclimb back to the rim, and I followed Jim. 

Why the lions ran in that particular direction was clear to me whenI saw the trail. It was a runway, smooth and hard packed. I trudgedalong it with rather less enjoyment than on any trail I had everfollowed to the canyon. Jim waited for me over the cedar ridge andshowed me where the captive lion lay dead. The hounds had not tornhim. They had killed him and passed on after the other. 

"He was a fine fellow, all of seven feet, we'll skin him on our wayback. "

Only dogged determination coupled with a sense of duty to the houndskept us on that trail. For the time being enthusiasm had beensubmerged. But we had to follow the pack. 

Jim, less weighted down and perhaps less discouraged, forged ahead upand down. The sun had burned all the morning coolness out of the air. I perspired and panted and began to grow weary. Jim's signal called meto hurry. I took to a trot and came upon him and the hounds under asmall cedar. The lion stood among the dead branches. His sides whereshaking convulsively, and his short breaths could be plainly heard. He had the most blazing eyes and most untamed expression of any wildcreature I have ever seen; and this amazed me considering I had kepthim on a crag for over an hour, and had come to look upon him as myown. 

"What'll we do, Jim, now that we have him treed?"

"Shore, we'll tie him up, " declared Jim. 

The lion stayed in the cedar long enough for me to photograph himtwice, then he leaped down again and took to his back trail. Wefollowed as fast as we could, soon to find that the hounds had put himup another cedar. From this he jumped down among the dogs, scatteredthem as if they had been so many leaves, and bounded up the slope outof sight. 

I laid aside my rifle and camera and tried to keep up with Jim. Thelion ran straight up the slope and treed again under the wall. Beforewe covered half the distance he was on the go once more, flying downin clouds of dust. 

"Don is makin' him hump, " said Jim. 

And that alone was enough to spur us on. We would reward the noblehound if we had the staying power. Don and his pack ran westward thistime, and along a mile of the beaten trail put him up two more trees. But these we could not see and judged only by the sound. 

[Illustration: A DRINK OF COLD GRANITE WATER UNDER THE RIM]

[Illustration: WHICH IS THE PIUTE?]

"Look there!" cried Jim. "Darn me if he ain't comin' right at us. "

It was true. Ahead of us the lion appeared, loping wearily. We stoppedin our tracks undecided. Jim drew his revolver. Once or twice the liondisappeared behind stones and cedars. When he sighted us he stopped, looked back, then again turning toward us, he left the trail to plungedown. He had barely got out of sight when old Don came pattering alongthe trail; then Ranger leading the others. Don did not even put hisnose to the ground where the lion had switched, but leaped aside andwent down. Here the long section of slope between the lion's runwayand the second wall had been weathered and worn, racked and convulsedinto deep ravines, with ridges between. We climbed and fell and toiledon, always with the bay of the hounds in our ears. We leaped fissures, we loosened avalanches, rolling them to crash and roar below, and sendlong, rumbling echoes out into the canyon. 

A gorge in the yellow rock opened suddenly before us. We stood at theconstricted neck of one of the great splits in the second wall. Theside opposite was almost perpendicular, and formed of mass on mass ofbroken stones. This was a weathered slope on a gigantic scale. Pointsof cliffs jutted out; caves and cracks lined the wall. 

"This is a rough place, " said Jim; "but a lion could get over thesecond wall here, an' I believe a man could too. The hounds seemed tobe back further toward where the split narrows. "

Through densely massed cedars and thickets of prickly thorns we wormedour way to come out at the neck of the gorge. 

"There ye are!" sang out Jim. The hounds were all on a flat shelf somefew feet below us, and on a sharp point of rock close by, but too farfor the dogs to reach, crouched the lion. He was gasping and frothingat the mouth. 

"Shore if he'd only stay there--" said Jim. 

He loosened his lasso, and stationing himself just above the tiredbeast he prepared to cast down the loop. The first throw failed of itspurpose, but the rope hit the lion. He got up painfully it seemed, and faced the dogs. That way barred he turned to the cliff. Almostopposite him a shelf leaned out. He looked at it, then paced to andfro like a beast in a cage. 

He looked again at the hounds, then up at us, all around, and finallyconcentrated his attention on the shelf; his long length sagged inthe middle, he stretched low, his muscles gathered and strung, and hesprang like a tawny streak. 

His aim was true, the whole forepart of his body landed on the shelfand he hung there. Then he slipped. We distinctly heard his clawsscrape the hard, smooth rock. He fell, turning a somersault, strucktwenty feet below on the rough slant, bounded from that to fall down, striking suddenly and then to roll, a yellow wheel that lodged behinda rock and stretched out to move no more. 

The hounds were silent; Jim and I were silent; a few little stonesrattled, then were still. The dead silence of the canyon seemed to paytribute to the lion's unquenchable spirit and to the freedom he hadearned to the last. 

VIII

How long Jim and I sat there we never knew. The second tragedy, not sopitiful but as heart sickening as the first, crushed our spirits. 

"Shore he was a game lion, " said Jim. "An' I'll have to get his skin. "

"I'm all in, Jim. I couldn't climb out of that hole. " I said. 

"You needn't. Rest a little, take a good drink an' leave your canteenhere for me; then get your things back there on the trail an' climbout. We're not far from West Point. I'll go back after the firstlion's skin an' then climb straight up. You lead my horse to the pointwhere you came off the rim. "

He clattered along the gorge knocking the stones and started down. Iwatched him letting himself over the end of the huge slabs until hepassed out of my sight. A good, long drink revived me and I began theascent. 

From that moment on time did not matter to me. I forgot all about it. I felt only my leaden feet and my laboring chest and dripping skin. I did not even notice the additional weight of my rifle and camerathough they must have overburdened me. I kept my eyes on the lionrunway and plunged away with short steps. To look at these toweringwalls would have been to surrender. 

At last, stumbling, bursting, sick, I gained the rim and had to restbefore I could mount. When I did get into the saddle I almost fellfrom it. 

Jones and Emett were waiting for me at the promontory where I hadtied my horse, and were soon acquainted with the particulars of myadventure, and that Jim would probably not get out for hours. We madetracks for camp, and never did a place rouse in me such a sense ofgratefulness. Emett got dinner and left on the fire a kettle of potatostew for Jim. It was almost dark when that worthy came riding intocamp. We never said a word as he threw the two lion skins on theground. 

"Fellows, you shore have missed the wind-up!" he exclaimed. 

We all looked at him and he looked at us. 

"Was there any more?" I asked weakly. 

"Shore! An' it beats hell! When I got the skin of the lion the dogskilled I started to work up to the place I knowed you'd leave myhorse. It's bad climbing where you came down. I got on the side ofthat cliff an' saw where I could work out, if I could climb a smoothplace. So I tried. There was little cracks an' ridges for my feet andhands. All to once, just above where I helped you down, I heard agrowl. Looking up I saw a big lion, bigger'n any we chased exceptSultan, an' he was pokin' his head out of a hole, an' shore tellingme to come no further. I couldn't let go with either hand to reach mygun, because I'd have fallen, so I yelled at him with all my might. Hespit at me an' then walked out of the hole over the bench as proud asa lord an' jumped down where I couldn't see him any more. I climbedout all right but he'd gone. An' I'll tell you for a minute, he shoremade me sweat. "

"By George!" I yelled, greatly excited. "I heard that lion breathing. Don chased him up there. I heard hard, wheezing breaths somewherebehind me, but in the excitement I didn't pay any attention to them. Ithought it was Jones panting, but now I know what it meant. "

"Shore. He was there all the time, lookin' at you an' maybe he couldhave reached you. "

We were all too exhausted for more discussion and putting that offuntil the next day we sought our beds. It was hardly any wonder that Ifelt myself jumping even in my sleep, and started up wildly more thanonce in the dead of night. 

[Illustration: WILD HORSES DRINKING ON A PROMONTORY IN THE GRANDCANYON]

Morning found us all rather subdued, yet more inclined to aphilosophical resignation as regarded the difficulties of our specialkind of hunting. Capturing the lions on the level of the plateau waseasy compared to following them down into canyons and bringing them upalone. We all agreed that that was next to impossible. Another feature, which before we had not considered, added to our perplexity and it was adawning consciousness that we would be perhaps less cruel if we killedthe lions outright. Jones and Emett arrayed themselves on the side thatlife even in captivity was preferable; while Jim and I, no doubt stillunder the poignant influence of the last lion's heroic race and end, inclined to freedom or death. We compromised on the reasonable fact thatas yet we had shown only a jackass kind of intelligence. 

[Illustration: JONES AND EMETT PACKING LION ON HORSE]

[Illustration: JONES CLIMBING UP TO LASSO LION]

About eleven o'clock while the others had deserted camp temporarilyfor some reason or other, I was lounging upon an odorous bed of pineneedles. The sun shone warmly, the sky gleamed bright azure throughthe openings of the great trees, a dry west breeze murmured throughthe forest. I was lying on my bed musing idly and watching a yellowwoodpecker when suddenly I felt a severe bite on my shoulder. Iimagined an ant had bitten me through my shirt. In a moment or soafterward I received, this time on my breast, another bite that leftno room for imagination. There was some kind of an animal inside myshirt, and one that made a mosquito, black-fly, or flea seem tame. 

Suddenly a thought swept on the heels of my indolent and ratherannoying realization. Could I have gotten from the Navajo what Jim andJones so characteristically called "'em"? I turned cold all over. Andon the very instant I received another bite that burned like fire. 

The return of my companions prevented any open demonstration of myfears and condition of mind, but I certainly swore inwardly. Duringthe dinner hour I felt all the time as if I had on a horsehair shirtwith the ends protruding toward my skin, and, in the exaggeratedsensitiveness of the moment, made sure "'em" were chasing up and downmy back. 

After dinner I sneaked off into the woods. I remembered that Emetthad said there was only one way to get rid of "'em, " and that was todisrobe and make a microscopical search of garments and person. Withserious mind and murderous intent I undressed. In the middle of theback of my jersey I discovered several long, uncanny, gray things. 

"I guess I got 'em, " I said gravely. 

Then I sat on a pine log in a state of unadorned nature, obliviousto all around, intent only on the massacre of the things that hadviolated me. How much time flew I could not guess. Great loud"Haw-haws!" roused me to consternation. There behind me stood Jonesand Emett shaking as if with the ague. 

"It's not funny!" I shouted in a rage. I had the unreasonablesuspicion that they had followed me to see my humiliation. Jones, whocracked a smile about as often as the equinoxes came, and Emett thesober Mormon, laughed until they cried. 

"I was--just wondering--what your folks would--think--if they--sawyou--now, " gurgled Jones. 

That brought to me the humor of the thing, and I joined in theirmirth. 

"All I hope is that you fellows will get 'em' too, " I said. 

"The Good Lord preserve me from that particular breed of Navvy's, "cried Emett. 

Jones wriggled all over at the mere suggestion. Now so much from theold plainsman, who had confessed to intimate relations with everycreeping, crawling thing in the West, attested powerfully to theunforgettable singularity of what I got from Navvy. 

I returned to camp determined to make the best of the situation, which owing to my failure to catch all of the gray devils, remainedpractically unchanged. Jim had been acquainted with my dilemma, as wasmanifest in his wet eyes and broad grin with which he greeted me. 

"I think I'd scalp the Navvy, " he said. 

"You make the Indian sleep outside after this, snow or no snow, " wasJones' suggestion. 

"No I won't; I won't show a yellow streak like that. Besides, I wantto give 'em to you fellows. "

A blank silence followed my statement, to which Jim replied:

"Shore that'll be easy; Jones'll have 'em, so'll Emett, an' by thunderI'm scratchin' now. "

"Navvy, look here, " I said severely, "mucha no bueno! heap bad!You--me!" here I scratched myself and made signs that a wooden Indianwould have understood. 

"Me savvy, " he replied, sullenly, then flared up. "Heap big lie. "

He turned on his heel, erect, dignified, and walked away amid theroars of my gleeful comrades. 

IX

One by one my companions sought their blankets, leaving the shadows, the dying embers, the slow-rising moan of the night wind to me. OldMoze got up from among the other hounds and limped into my tent, whereI heard him groan as he lay down. Don, Sounder, and Ranger werefast asleep in well-earned rest. Shep, one of the pups, whined andimpatiently tossed his short chain. Remembering that he had not beenloose all day, I unbuckled his collar and let him go. 

He licked my hand, stretched and shook himself, lifted his shapely, sleek head and sniffed the wind. He trotted around the circle cast bythe fire and looked out into the darkening shadows. It was plain thatShep's instincts were developing fast; he was ambitious to hunt. Butsure in my belief that he was afraid of the black night and would stayin camp, I went to bed. 

The Navajo who slept with me snored serenely and Moze growled in hisdreams; the wind swept through the pines with an intermittent rush. Some time in the after part of the night I heard a distant sound. Remote, mournful, wild, it sent a chill creeping over me. Bornefaintly to my ears, it was a fit accompaniment to the moan of the windin the pines. It was not the cry of a trailing wolf, nor the lonesomehowl of a prowling coyote, nor the strange, low sound, like a cough, of a hunting cougar, though it had a semblance of all three. It wasthe bay of a hound, thinned out by distance, and it served to keep mewide awake. But for a while, what with the roar and swell of the windand Navvy's snores, I could hear it only at long intervals. 

Still, in the course of an hour, I followed the sound, or imagined so, from a point straight in line with my feet to one at right angleswith my head. Finally deciding it came from Shep, and fancying he wastrailing a deer or coyote, I tried to go to sleep again. 

In this I would have succeeded had not, all at once, our captive lionsbegun to growl. That ominous, low murmuring awoke me with a vengeance, for it was unusual for them to growl in the middle of the night. I wondered if they, as well as the pup, had gotten the scent of aprowling lion. 

I reached down to my feet and groped in the dark for Moze. Findinghim, I gave him a shake. The old gladiator groaned, stirred, and cameout of what must have been dreams of hunting meat. He slapped his tailagainst my bed. As luck would have it, just then the wind abated to asoft moan, and clear and sharp came the bay of a hound. Moze heard it, for he stopped wagging his tail, his body grew tense under my hand, and he vented his low, deep grumble. 

I lay there undecided. To wake my companions was hardly to beconsidered, and to venture off into the forest alone, where old Sultanmight be scouting, was not exactly to my taste. And trying to thinkwhat to do, and listening for the bay of the pup, and hearing mostlythe lions growling and the wind roaring, I fell asleep. 

"Hey! are you ever going to get up?" some one yelled into my drowsybrain. I roused and opened my eyes. The yellow, flickering shadows onthe wall of my tent told me that the sun had long risen. I found mycompanions finishing breakfast. The first thing I did was to look overthe dogs. Shep, the black-and-white pup, was missing. 

"Where's Shep?" I asked. 

"Shore, I ain't seen him this mornin', " replied Jim. 

Thereupon I told what I had heard during the night. 

"Everybody listen, " said Jones. 

We quieted down and sat like statues. A gentle, cool breeze, barelymoving the pine tips, had succeeded the night wind. The sound ofhorses munching their oats, and an occasional clink, rattle, and growlfrom the lions did not drown the faint but unmistakable yelps of apup. 

"South, toward the canyon, " said Jim, as Jones got up. 

"Now, it'd be funny if that little Shep, just to get even with me fortying him up so often, has treed a lion all by himself, " commentedJones. "And I'll bet that's just what he's done. "

He called the hounds about him and hurried westward through theforest. 

"Shore, it might be. " Jim shook his head knowingly. "I reckon it'sonly a rabbit, but anythin' might happen in this place. "

I finished breakfast and went into my tent for something--I forgetwhat, for wild yells from Emett and Jim brought me flying out again. 

"Listen to that!" cried Jim, pointing west. 

The hounds had opened up; their full, wild chorus floated clearly onthe breeze, and above it Jones' stentorian yell signaled us. 

"Shore, the old man can yell, " continued Jim. "Grab your lassos an'hump yourselves. I've got the collar an' chain. "

"Come on, Navvy, " shouted Emett. He grasped the Indian's wrist andstarted to run, jerking Navvy into the air at every jump. I caught upmy camera and followed. We crossed two shallow hollows, and then sawthe hounds and Jones among the pines not far ahead. 

In my excitement I outran my companions and dashed into an open glade. First I saw Jones waving his long arms; next the dogs, noses upward, and Don actually standing on his hind legs; then a dead pine with awell-known tawny shape outlined against the blue sky. 

"Hurrah for Shep!" I yelled, and right vigorously did my comrades joinin. 

"It's another female, " said Jones, when we calmed down, "and fairsized. That's the best tree for our purpose that I ever saw a lion in. So spread out, boys; surround her and keep noisy. "

Navvy broke from Emett at this juncture and ran away. But evidentlyovercome by curiosity, he stopped to hide behind a bush, from which Isaw his black head protruding. 

When Jones swung himself on the first stubby branch of the pine, thelioness, some fifteen feet above, leaped to another limb, and the oneshe had left cracked, swayed and broke. It fell directly upon Jones, the blunt end striking his head and knocking him out of the tree. Fortunately, he landed on his feet; otherwise there would surely havebeen bones broken. He appeared stunned, and reeled so that Emettcaught him. The blood poured from a wound in his head. 

This sudden shock sobered us instantly. On examination we found along, jagged cut in Jones' scalp. We bathed it with water from mycanteen and with snow Jim procured from a nearby hollow, eventuallystopping the bleeding. I insisted on Jones coming to camp to have thewound properly dressed, and he insisted on having it bound with abandana; after which he informed us that he was going to climb thetree again. 

We objected to this. Each of us declared his willingness to go up andrope the lion; but Jones would not hear of it. 

"I'm not doubting your courage, " he said. "It's only that you cannottell what move the lion would make next, and that's the danger. "

We could not gainsay this, and as not one of us wanted to kill theanimal or let her go, Jones had his way. So he went up the tree, passed the first branch and then another. The lioness changed herposition, growled, spat, clawed the twigs, tried to keep the treetrunk between her and Jones, and at length got out on a branch in amost favorable position for roping. 

The first cast of the lasso did the business, and Jim and Emett withnimble fingers tied up the hounds. 

"Coming, " shouted Jones. He slid down, hand over hand, on the rope, the lioness holding his weight with apparent ease. 

"Make your noose ready, " he yelled to Emett. 

I had to drop my camera to help Jones and Jim pull the animal fromher perch. The branches broke in a shower; then the lioness, hissing, snarling, whirling, plunged down. She nearly jerked the rope out ofour hands, but we lowered her to Emett, who noosed her hind paws in aflash. 

"Make fast your rope, " shouted Jones. "There, that's good! Now let herdown--easy. "

As soon as the lioness touched ground we let go the lasso, whichwhipped up and over the branch. She became a round, yellow, rapidlymoving ball. Emett was the first to catch the loose lasso, and hechecked the rolling cougar. Jones leaped to assist him and the two ofthem straightened out the struggling animal, while Jim swung anothernoose at her. On the second throw he caught a front paw. 

"Pull hard! Stretch her out!" yelled Jones. He grasped a stout pieceof wood and pushed it at the lioness. She caught it in her mouth, making the splinters fly. Jones shoved her head back on the ground andpressed his brawny knee on the bar of wood. 

"The collar! The collar! Quick!" he called. 

I threw chain and collar to him, which in a moment he had buckledround her neck. 

"There, we've got her!" he said. "It's only a short way over to camp, so we'll drag her without muzzling. "

As he rose the lioness lurched, and reaching him, fastened herfangs in his leg. Jones roared. Emett and Jim yelled. And I, thoughfrightened, was so obsessed with the idea of getting a picture that Ibegan to fumble with the shutter of my camera. 

"Grab the chain! Pull her off!" bawled Jones. 

I ran in, took up the chain with both hands, and tugged with all mymight. Emett, too, had all his weight on the lasso round her neck. Between the two of us we choked her hold loose, but she brought Jones'leather leggin in her teeth. Then I dropped the chain and jumped. 

"**-- **--!" exploded Jones to me. "Do you think more of a picturethan of saving my life?" Having expressed this not unreasonableprotest, he untied the lasso that Emett had made fast to a smallsapling. 

Then the three men, forming points of a triangle around an animatedcenter, began a march through the forest that for variety of actionand splendid vociferation beat any show I ever beheld. 

So rare was it that the Navajo came out of his retreat and, straightway forgetting his reverence and fear, began to execute aghost-dance, or war-dance, or at any rate some kind of an Indiandance, along the side lines. 

There were moments when the lioness had Jim and Jones on the groundand Emett wobbling; others when she ran on her bound legs and chasedthe two in front and dragged the one behind; others when she camewithin an ace of getting her teeth in somebody. 

They had caught a Tartar. They dared not let her go, and though Jonesevidently ordered it, no one made fast his rope to a tree. There wasno opportunity. She was in the air three parts of the time and thefourth she was invisible for dust. The lassos were each thirty feetlong, but even with that the men could just barely keep out of herreach. 

Then came the climax, as it always comes in a lion hunt, unerringly, unexpectedly, and with lightning swiftness. The three men were nearingthe bottom of the second hollow, well spread out, lassos taut, facingone another. Jones stumbled and the lioness leaped his way. Theweight of both brought Jim over, sliding and slipping, with his ropeslackening. The leap of the lioness carried her within reach of Jones;and as he raised himself, back toward her, she reached a big paw forhim just as Emett threw all his bull strength and bulk on his lasso. 

The seat of Jones' trousers came away with the lioness' claws. Thenshe fell backward, overcome by Emett's desperate lunge. Jones sprangup with the velocity of an Arab tumbler, and his scarlet face, workingspasmodically, and his moving lips, showed how utterly unable he wasto give expression to his rage. I had a stitch in my side that nearlykilled me, but laugh I had to though I should die for it. 

No laughing matter was it for them. They volleyed and thunderedback and forth meaningless words of which "hell" was the only onedistinguishable, and probably the word that best described theirsituation. 

All the while, however, they had been running from the lioness, whichbrought them before they realized it right into camp. Our captivelions cut up fearfully at the hubbub, and the horses stampeded interror. 

"Whoa!" yelled Jones, whether to his companions or to the strugglingcougar, no one knew. But Navvy thought Jones addressed the cougar. 

"Whoa!" repeated Navvy. "No savvy whoa! No savvy whoa!" which provedconclusively that the Navajo had understanding as well as wit. 

Soon we had another captive safely chained and growling away in tunewith the others. I went back to untie the hounds, to find them sulkyand out of sorts from being so unceremoniously treated. They noisilytrailed the lioness into camp, where, finding her chained, they formeda ring around her. 

Thereafter the day passed in round-the-camp-fire chat and task. Foronce Jim looked at Navvy with toleration. We dressed the wound inJones' head and laughed at the condition of his trousers and at hisawkward attempts to piece them. 

"Mucha dam cougie, " remarked Navvy. "No savvy whoa!"

The lions growled all day. And Jones kept repeating: "To think howShep fooled me!"

X

Next morning Jones was out bright and early, yelling at Navvy to hurrywith the horses, calling to the hounds and lions, just as usual. 

Navvy had finally come to his full share of praise from all of us. Even Jim acknowledged that the Indian was invaluable to a huntingparty in a country where grass and water were hard to find and wildhorses haunted the trails. 

"_Tohodena! Tohodena!_ (hurry! hurry!)" said Navvy, mimicking Jonesthat morning. 

As we sat down to breakfast he loped off into the forest and before wegot up the bells of the horses were jingling in the hollow. 

"I believe it's going to be cloudy, " said Jones, "and if so we canhunt all day. "

We rode down the ridge to the left of Middle Canyon, and had troublewith the hounds all the way. First they ran foul of a coyote, whichwas the one and only beast they could not resist. Spreading out tohead them off, we separated. I cut into a hollow and rode to its head, where I went up. I heard the hounds and presently saw a big, whitecoyote making fast time through the forest glades. It looked as if hewould cross close in front of me, so I pulled Foxie to a standstill, jumped off and knelt with my rifle ready. But the sharp-eyed coyotesaw my horse and shied off. I had not much hope to hit him so faraway, and the five bullets I sent after him, singing and zipping, served only to make him run faster. I mounted Foxie and interceptedthe hounds coming up sharply on the trail, and turned them toward mycompanions, now hallooing from the ridge below. 

Then the pack lost a good hour on several lion tracks that were a dayold, and for such trails we had no time. We reached the cedars howeverat seven o'clock, and as the sky was overcast with low dun-coloredclouds and the air cool, we were sure it was not too late. 

One of the capes of the plateau between Middle and Left Canyon was anarrow strip of rock, covered with a dense cedar growth and cut upinto smaller canyons, all running down inevitably toward the greatcanyon. With but a single bark to warn us, Don got out of our sightand hearing; and while we split to look and call for him the remainderof the pack found the lion trail that he had gone on, and they leftus trying to find a way out as well as to find each other. I kept thehounds in hearing for some time and meanwhile I signalled to Emett whowas on my right flank. Jones and Jim might as well have vanished offthe globe for all I could see or hear of them. A deep, narrow gullyinto which I had to lead Foxie and carefully coax him out took so muchtime that when I once more reached a level I could not hear the houndsor get an answer to my signal cry. 

"Waa-hoo!" I called again. 

Away on the dry rarified air pealed the cry, piercing the cedarforest, splitting sharp in the vaulted canyons, rolling loud and long, to lose power, to die away in muffling echo. But the silence returnedno answer. 

I rode on under the cedars, through a dark, gloomy forest, silent, almost spectral, which brought irresistibly to my mind the words"I found me in a gloomy wood astray. " I was lost though I knew thedirection of the camp. This section of cedar forest was all butimpenetrable. Dead cedars were massed in gray tangles, live cedars, branches touching the ground, grew close together. In this labyrinthI lost my bearings. I turned and turned, crossed my own back trail, which in desperation I followed, coming out of the cedars at the deepand narrow canyon. 

Here I fired my revolver. The echo boomed out like the report of heavyartillery, but no answering shot rewarded me. There was no alternativesave to wander along the canyon and through the cedars until I foundmy companions. This I began to do, disgusted with my awkwardness inlosing them. Turning Foxie westward I had scarcely gotten under waywhen Don came trotting toward me. 

"Hello, old boy!" I called. Don appeared as happy to see me as I wasto see him. He flopped down on the ground; his dripping tongue rolledas he panted; covered with dust and flecked with light froth he surelylooked to be a tired hound. 

"All in, eh Don!" I said dismounting. "Well, we'll rest awhile. " ThenI discovered blood on his nose, which I found to have come from a deepscratch. "A--ah! been pushing a lion too hard this morning? Got yournose scratched, didn't you? You great, crazy hound, don't you knowsome day you'll chase your last lion?"

Don wagged his tail as if to say he knew it all very well. I wet myhandkerchief from my canteen and started to wash the blood and dustfrom his nose, when he whined and licked my fingers. 

"Thirsty?" I asked, sitting down beside him. Denting the top of my hatI poured in as much water as it would hold and gave him to drink. Fourtimes he emptied my improvised cup before he was satisfied. Then witha sigh of relief he lay down again. 

The three of us rested there for perhaps half an hour, Don and Isitting quietly on the wall of the canyon, while Foxie browsed onoccasional tufts of grass. During that time the hound never raised hissleek, dark head, which showed conclusively the nature of the silence. And now that I had company--as good company as any hunter ever had--Iwas once more contented. 

Don got up, at length of his own volition and with a wag of his tailset off westward along the rim. Remounting my mustang I kept as closeto Don's heels as the rough going permitted. The hound, however, showed no disposition to hurry, and I let him have his way without aword. 

We came out in the notch of the great amphitheater or curve we hadnamed the Bay, and I saw again the downward slope, the bold steps, thecolor and depth below. 

I was just about to yell a signal cry when I saw Don, with hair risingstiff, run forward. He took a dozen jumps, then yelping broke down thesteep, yellow and green gorge. He disappeared before I knew what hadhappened. 

Shortly I found a lion track, freshly made, leading down. I believedI could follow wherever Don led, so I decided to go after him. I tiedFoxie securely, removed my coat, kicked off spurs and chaps, andremembering past unnecessary toil, fastened a red bandana to the topof a dead snag to show me where to come up on my way out. Then Icarefully strapped my canteen and camera on my back, made doublysecure my revolver, put on my heavy gloves, and started down. And Irealized at once that only so lightly encumbered should I have everventured down the slope. 

Little benches of rock, grassy on top, with here and there cedartrees, led steeply down for perhaps five hundred feet. A precipicestopped me. From it I heard Don baying below, and almost instantly sawthe yellow gleam of a lion in a tree-top. 

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" I yelled in wild encouragement. 

I felt it would be wise to look before I leaped. The Bay lay under me, a mile wide where it opened into the great slumbering smoky canyon. All below was chaos of splintered stone and slope, green jumble ofcedar, ruined, detached, sliding, standing cliff walls, leaning yellowcrags--an awful hole. But I could get down, and that was all I caredfor. I ran along to the left, jumping cracks, bounding over the unevenstones with sure, swift feet, and came to where the cliff ended inweathered slope and scaly bench. 

It was like a game, going down that canyon. My heavy nailed bootsstruck fire from the rocks. My heavy gloves protected my hands as Islid and hung on and let go. I outfooted the avalanches and wherever Icame to a scaly slope or bank or decayed rock, I leaped down in sheerdelight. 

But all too soon my progress was barred; once under the cliff I foundonly a gradual slope and many obstacles to go round or surmount. Luckfavored me, for I ran across a runway and keeping to it made bettertime. I heard Don long before I tried to see him, and yelled atintervals to let him know I was coming. A white bank of weatheredstones led down to a clump of cedars from where Don's bay camespurring me to greater efforts. I flew down this bank, and through anopening saw the hound standing with fore feet against a cedar. Thebranches over him swayed, and I saw an indistinct, tawny form movedownward in the air. Then succeeded the crash and rattle of stones. Don left the tree and disappeared. 

I dashed down, dodged under the cedars, threaded a maze of rocks, tofind myself in a ravine with a bare, water-worn floor. In patches ofsand showed the fresh tracks of Don and the lion. Running down thisdry, clean bed was the easiest going I ever found in the canyon. Everyrod the course jumped in a fall from four to ten feet, often more, andthese I slid down. How I ever kept Don in hearing was a marvel, butstill I did. 

The lion evidently had no further intention of taking to a tree. Fromthe size of his track I concluded he was old and I feared every momentto hear the sounds of a fight. Jones had said that nearly always inthe case of one hound chasing an old lion, the lion would lie in waitfor him and kill him. And I was afraid for Don. 

Down, down, down, we went, till the yellow rim above seemed a thinband of gold. I saw that we were almost to the canyon proper, andI wondered what would happen when we reached it. The dark shadedwatercourse suddenly shot out into bright light and ended in a deepcove, with perpendicular walls fifty feet high. I could see wherea few rods farther on this cove opened into a huge, airy, coloredcanyon. 

I called the hound, wondering if he had gone to the right or left ofthe cove. His bay answered me coming from the cedars far to the right. I turned with all the speed left in me, for I felt the chase nearingan end. Tracks of hound and lion once more showed in the dust. Theslope was steep and stones I sent rolling cracked down below. Soon Ihad a cliff above me and had to go slow and cautiously. A misstep orslide would have precipitated me into the cove. 

Almost before I knew what I was about, I stood gasping on the giganticsecond wall of the canyon, with nothing but thin air under me, except, far below, faint and indistinct purple clefts, red ridges, dottedslopes, running down to merge in a dark, winding strip of water, that was the Rio Colorado. A sullen murmur soared out of the abyss. 

[Illustration: TWO LIONS IN ONE TREE]

[Illustration: JONES, EMETT, AND THE NAVAJO WITH THE LIONS]

The coloring of my mood changed. Never had the canyon struck me soterribly with its illimitable space, its dread depth, its unscalablecliffs, and particularly with the desolate, forbidding quality of itssilence. 

I heard Don bark. Turning the corner of the cliff wall I saw him on anarrow shelf. He was coming toward me and when he reached me he facedagain to the wall and barked fiercely. The hair on his neck bristled. I knew he did not fancy that narrow strip of rock, nor did I. But asudden, grim, cold something had taken possession of me, and I steppedforward. 

"Come on, Don, old fellow, we've got him corralled. "

That was the first instance I ever knew of Don's hesitation in thechase of a lion. I had to coax him to me. But once started he took thelead and I closely followed. 

The shelf was twenty feet wide and upon it close to the wall, in thedust, were the deep imprints of the lion. A jutting corner of cliffwall hid my view. I peeped around it. The shelf narrowed on the otherside to a yard in width, and climbed gradually by broken steps. Donpassed the corner, looked back to see if I was coming and went on. Hedid this four times, once even stopping to wait for me. 

"I'm with you Don!" I grimly muttered. "We'll see this trail out to afinish. "

I had now no eyes for the wonders of the place, though I could not butsee as I bent a piercing gaze ahead the ponderous overhanging wallabove, and sense the bottomless depth below. I felt rather than sawthe canyon swallows, sweeping by in darting flight, with softrustle of wings, and I heard the shrill chirp of some strange cliffinhabitant. 

Don ceased barking. How strange that seemed to me! We were no longerman and hound, but companions, brothers, each one relying on theother. A protruding corner shut us from sight of what was beyond. Donslipped around. I had to go sidewise and shuddered as my fingers bitinto the wall. 

To my surprise I soon found myself on the floor of a shallow windcave. The lion trail led straight across it and on. Shelves of rockstuck out above under which I hurriedly walked. I came upon a shrubcedar growing in a niche and marveled to see it there. Don went slowerand slower. 

We suddenly rounded a point, to see the lion lying in a box-like spacein the wall. The shelf ended there. I had once before been confrontedwith a like situation, and had expected to find it here, so was notfrightened. The lion looked up from his task of licking a bloody paw, and uttered a fierce growl. His tail began to lash to and fro; itknocked the little stones off the shelf. I heard them click on thewall. Again and again he spat, showing great, white fangs. He was aTom, heavy and large. 

It had been my purpose, of course, to photograph this lion, and nowthat we had cornered him I proposed to do it. What would follow hadonly hazily formed in my mind, but the nucleus of it was that heshould go free. I got my camera, opened it, and focused from betweentwenty and twenty-five feet. 

Then a growl from Don and roar from the lion bade me come to mysenses. I did so and my first movement after seeing the lion had risenthreateningly was to whip out my revolver. 

The lion's cruel yellow eyes darkened and darkened. In an instant Isaw my error. Jones had always said in case any one of us had toface a lion, never for a single instant to shift his glance. I hadforgotten that, and in that short interval when I focused my camerathe lion had seen I meant him no harm, or feared him, and he hadrisen. Even then in desperate lessening ambition for a great picture Iattempted to take one, still keeping my glance on him. 

It was then that the appalling nature of my predicament made itselfplain to me. The lion leaped ten feet and stood snarling horriblyright in my face. 

Brave, noble Don, with infinitely more sense and courage than Ipossessed, faced the lion and bayed him in his teeth. I raised therevolver and aimed twice, each time lowering it because I feared toshoot in such a precarious position. To wound the lion would be theworst thing I could do, and I knew that only a shot through the brainwould kill him in his tracks. 

"Hold him, Don, hold him!" I yelled, and I took a backward step. Thelion put forward one big paw, his eyes now all purple blaze. I backedagain and he came forward. Don gave ground slowly. Once the lionflashed a yellow paw at him. It was frightful to see the wide-spreadclaws. 

In the consternation of the moment I allowed the lion to back meacross the front of the wind cave, where I saw, the moment it was toolate, I should have taken advantage of more space to shoot him. 

Fright succeeded consternation, and I began to tremble. The lion wasmaster of the situation. What would happen when I came to the narrowpoint on the shelf where it would be impossible for me to back around?I almost fainted. The thought of heroic Don saved me, and the weakmoment passed. 

"By God, Don, you've got the nerve, and I must have it too!"

I stopped in my tracks. The lion, appearing huge now, took slowcatlike steps toward me, backing Don almost against my knees. He wasso close I smelt him. His wonderful eyes, clear blue fire circled byyellow flame, fascinated me. Hugging the wall with my body I broughtthe revolver up, short armed, and with clinched teeth, and nervestrained to the breaking point, I aimed between the eyes and pulledthe trigger. 

The left eye seemed to go out blankly, then followed the bellow of therevolver and the smell of powder. The lion uttered a sound that was amingling of snarls, howls and roars and he rose straight up, toweringhigh over my head, beating the wall heavily with his paws. 

In helpless terror I stood there forgetting weapon, fearing only thebeast would fall over on me. 

But in death agony he bounded out from the wall to fall into space. 

I sank down on the shelf, legs powerless, body in cold sweat. As Iwaited, slowly my mind freed itself from a tight iron band and asickening relief filled my soul. Tensely I waited and listened. Donwhined once. 

Would the lion never strike? What seemed a long period of time endedin a low, distant roar of sliding rock, quickly dying into the solemnstillness of the canyon. 

XI

I lay there for some moments slowly recovering, eyes on the fardistant escarpments, now darkly red and repellent to me. When I got upmy legs were still shaky and I had the strange, weak sensation of along bed-ridden invalid. Three attempts were necessary before I couldtrust myself on the narrow strip of shelf. But once around it with theperil passed, I braced up and soon reached the turn in the wall. 

After that the ascent out of the Bay was only a matter of work, whichI gave with a will. Don did not evince any desire for more huntingthat day. We reached the rim together, and after a short rest, Imounted my horse, and we turned for camp. 

The sun had long slanted toward the western horizon when I saw theblue smoke of our camp-fire among the pines. The hounds rose up andbarked as Don trotted in to the blaze, and my companions just sittingto a dinner, gave me a noisy greeting. 

"Shore, we'd began to get worried, " said Jim. "We all had it comin' tous to-day, and don't you forget that. "

Dinner lasted for a long hour. Besides being half famished we alltook time between bites to talk. I told my story first, expecting myfriends to be overwhelmed, but they were not. 

"It's been the greatest day of lion hunting that I ever experienced, "declared Jones. "We ran bang into a nest of lions and they split. Weall split and the hounds split. That tells the tale. We have nothingto show for our day's toil. Six lions chased, rounded up, treed, holed, and one lion killed, and we haven't even his skin to show. Idid not go down but I helped Ranger and two of the pups chase a lionall over the lower end of the plateau. We treed him twice and I yelledfor you fellows till my voice was gone. "

"Well, " said Emett, "I fell in with Sounder and Jude. They were hot ona trail which in a mile or two turned up this way. I came on them justat the edge of the pines where they had treed their game. I sat underthat pine tree for five hours, fired all my shots to make you fellowscome, yelled myself hoarse and then tried to tie up the lion alone. Hejumped out and ran over the rim, where neither I nor the dogs couldfollow. "

"Shore, I win, three of a kind, " drawled Jim, as he got his pipe andcarefully dusted the bowl. "When the stampede came, I got my hands onMoze and held him. I held Moze because just as the other hounds brokeloose over to my right, I saw down into a little pocket where afresh-killed deer lay half eaten. So I went down. I found two othercarcasses layin' there, fresh killed last night, flesh all gone, hidegone, bones crushed, skull split open. An' damn me fellows, if thatlittle pocket wasn't all torn to pieces. The sage was crushed flat. The ground dug up, dead snags broken, and blood and hair everywhere. Lion tracks like leaves, and old Sultan's was there. I let Moze looseand he humped the trail of several lions south over the rim. Major gotdown first an' came back with his tail between his legs. Moze wentdown and I kept close to him. It wasn't far down, but steep and rocky, full of holes. Moze took the trail to a dark cave. I saw the tracks ofthree lions goin' in. Then I collared Moze an' waited for you fellows. I waited there all day, an' nobody came to my call. Then I made forcamp. "

"How do you account for the torn-up appearance of the place where youfound the carcasses?" I asked. 

"Lion fight sure, " replied Jones. "Maybe old Sultan ran across thethree lions feeding, and pitched into them. Such fights were commonamong the lions in Yellowstone Park when I was there. "

"What chance have we to find those three lions in a cave where Jimchased them?"

"We stand a good chance, " said Jones. "Especially if it stormsto-night. "

"Shore the snow storm is comin', " returned Jim. 

Darkness clapped down on us suddenly, and the wind roared in the pineslike a mighty river tearing its way down a rocky pass. As we could notcontrol the camp-fire, sparks of which blew fiercely, we extinguishedit and went to bed. I had just settled myself comfortably to be sungto sleep by the concert in the pines, when Jones hailed me. 

"Say, what do you think?" he yelled, when I had answered him. "Emettis mad. He's scratching to beat the band. He's got 'em. "

I signalled his information with a loud whoop of victory. 

"You next, Jones! They're coming to you!"

I heard him grumble over my happy anticipation. Jim laughed and sodid the Navajo, which made me suspect that he could understand moreEnglish than he wanted us to suppose. 

Next morning a merry yell disturbed my slumbers. "Snowed in--snowedin!"

"Mucha snow--discass--no cougie--dam no bueno!" exclaimed Navvy. 

When I peeped out to see the forest in the throes of a blindingblizzard, the great pines only pale, grotesque shadows, everythingwhite mantled in a foot of snow, I emphasized the Indian words instraight English. 

"Much snow--cold--no cougar--bad!"

"Stay in bed, " yelled Jones. 

"All right, " I replied. "Say Jones, have you got 'em yet?"

He vouchsafed me no answer. I went to sleep then and dozed off and ontill noon, when the storm abated. We had dinner, or rather breakfast, round a blazing bonfire. 

"It's going to clear up, " said Jim. 

The forest around us was a somber and gloomy place. The cloud that hadenveloped the plateau lifted and began to move. It hit the tree tops, sometimes rolling almost to the ground, then rising above the trees. At first it moved slowly, rolling, forming, expanding, blooming likea column of whirling gray smoke; then it gathered headway and rolledonward through the forest. A gray, gloomy curtain, moving andrippling, split by the trees, seemed to be passing over us. It rosehigher and higher, to split up in great globes, to roll apart, showingglimpses of blue sky. 

Shafts of golden sunshine shot down from these rifts, dispelling theshadows and gloom, moving in paths of gold through the forest glade, gleaming with brilliantly colored fire from the snow-wreathed pines. 

The cloud rolled away and the sun shone hot. The trees began to drip. A mist of diamonds filled the air, rainbows curved through every gladeand feathered patches of snow floated down. 

A great bank of snow, sliding from the pine overhead almost buriedthe Navajo, to our infinite delight. We all sought the shelter of thetents, and sleep again claimed us. 

I awoke about five o'clock. The sun was low, making crimson paths inthe white aisles of the forest. A cold wind promised a frosty morning. 

"To-morrow will be the day for lions, " exclaimed Jones. 

While we hugged the fire, Navvy brought up the horses and gave themtheir oats. The hounds sought their shelter and the lions lay hiddenin their beds of pine. The round red sun dropped out of sight beyondthe trees, a pink glow suffused all the ridges; blue shadows gatheredin the hollow, shaded purple and stole upward. A brief twilightsucceeded to a dark, coldly starlit night. 

Once again, when I had crawled into the warm hole of my sleeping bag, was I hailed from the other tent. 

Emett called me twice, and as I answered, I heard Jones remonstratingin a low voice. 

"Shore, Jones has got 'em!" yelled Jim. "He can't keep it a secret nolonger. "

"Hey, Jones, " I cried, "do you remember laughing at me?"

"No, I don't, " growled Jones. 

"Listen to this: Haw-haw! haw! haw! ho-ho! ho-ho! bueno! bueno!" and Iwound up with a string of "hi! hi! hi! hi! hi!"

The hounds rose up in a body and began to yelp. 

"Lie down, pups, " I called to them. "Nothing doing for you. It's onlyJones has got 'em. "

XII

When we trooped out of the pines next morning, the sun, risinggloriously bright, had already taken off the keen edge of the frostyair, presaging a warm day. The white ridges glistened; the bunches ofsage scintillated, and the cedars, tipped in snow, resembled treeswith brilliant blossoms. 

We lost no time riding for the mouth of Left Canyon, into which Jimhad trailed the three lions. On the way the snow, as we had expected, began to thin out, and it failed altogether under the cedars, thoughthere was enough on the branches to give us a drenching. 

Jim reined in on the verge of a narrow gorge, and informed us the cavewas below. Jones looked the ground over and said Jim had bettertake the hounds down while the rest of us remained above to awaitdevelopments. 

Jim went down on foot, calling the hounds and holding them close. Welistened eagerly for him to yell or the pack to open up, but we weredisappointed. In less than half an hour Jim came climbing out, withthe information that the lions had left the cave, probably the eveningafter he had chased them there. 

"Well, then, " said Jones, "let's split the pack, and hunt round therims of these canyons. We can signal to each other if necessary. "

So we arranged for Jim to take Ranger and the pups across Left Canyon;Emett to try Middle Canyon, with Don and Moze, and we were to performa like office in Right Canyon with Sounder and Jude. Emett rode backwith us, leaving us where we crossed Middle Canyon. 

Jones and I rimmed a mile of our canyon and worked out almost to thewest end of the Bay, without finding so much as a single track, so westarted to retrace our way. The sun was now hot; the snow all gone;the ground dry as if it had never been damp; and Jones grumbled thatno success would attend our efforts this morning. 

We reached the ragged mouth of Right Canyon, where it opened into thedeep, wide Bay, and because we hoped to hear our companions across thecanyon, we rode close to the rim. Sounder and Jude both began to barkon a cliff; however, as we could find no tracks in the dust we calledthem off. Sounder obeyed reluctantly, but Jude wanted to get down overthe wall. 

"They scent a lion, " averred Jones. "Let's put them over the wall. "

Once permitted to go, the hounds needed no assistance. They ran upand down the rim till they found a crack. Hardly had they gone outof sight when we heard them yelping. We rushed to the rim and lookedover. The first step was short, a crumbled section of wall, and fromit led down a long slope, dotted here and there with cedars. Bothhounds were baying furiously. 

I spied Jude with her paws up on a cedar, and above her hung a lion, so close that she could nearly reach him. Sounder was not yet insight. 

"There! There!" I cried, directing Jones' glance. "Are we not lucky?"

"I see. By George! Come, we'll go down. Leave everything that youdon't absolutely need. "

Spurs, chaps, gun, coat, hat, I left on the rim, taking only my cameraand lasso. I had forgotten to bring my canteen. We descended a ladderof shaly cliff, the steps of which broke under our feet. The slopebelow us was easy, and soon we stood on a level with the lion. Thecedar was small, and afforded no good place for him. Evidently hejumped from the slope to the tree, and had hung where he firstalighted. 

"Where's Sounder? Look for him. I hear him below. This lion won't staytreed long. "

I, too, heard Sounder. The cedar tree obstructed my view, and I movedaside. A hundred feet farther down the hound bayed under a tall piņon. High in the branches I saw a great mass of yellow, and at first glancethought Sounder had treed old Sultan. How I yelled! Then a secondglance showed two lions close together. 

"Two more! two more! look! look!" I yelled to Jones. 

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" he joined his robust yell to mine, and for a moment wemade the canyon bellow. When we stopped for breath the echoes bayed atus from the opposite walls. 

"Waa-hoo!" Emett's signal, faint, far away, soaring but unmistakable, floated down to us. Across the jutting capes separating the mouths ofthese canyons, high above them on the rim wall of the opposite side ofthe Bay, stood a giant white horse silhouetted against the whitesky. They made a brave picture, one most welcome to us. We yelled inchorus: "Three lions treed! Three lions treed! come down--hurry!"

A crash of rolling stones made us wheel. Jude's lion had jumped. Heran straight down, drawing Sounder from his guard. Jude went tearingafter them. 

"I'll follow; you stay here. Keep them up there, if you can!" yelledJones. Then in long strides he passed down out of sight among thetrees and crags. 

It had all happened so quickly that I could scarcely realize it. Theyelping of the hounds, the clattering of stones, grew fainter, tellingme Jude and Sounder, with Jones, were going to the bottom of the Bay. 

Both lions snarling at me brought me to a keen appreciation of thefacts in the case. Two full-grown lions to be kept treed withouthounds, without a companion, without a gun. 

"This is fine! This is funny!" I cried, and for a moment I wanted torun. But the same grim, deadly feeling that had taken me with Donaround the narrow shelf now rose in me stronger and fiercer. Ipronounced one savage malediction upon myself for leaving my gun. Icould not go for it; I would have to make the best of my error, and inthe wildness born of the moment I swore if the lions would stay treedfor the hounds they would stay treed for me. 

First I photographed them from different positions; then I took up mystand about on a level with them in an open place on the slope wherethey had me in plain sight. I might have been fifty feet from them. They showed no inclination to come down. 

About this moment I heard hounds below, coming down from the left. Icalled and called, but they passed on down the canyon bottom in thedirection Jones had taken. 

Presently a chorus of bays, emphasized by Jones' yell, told me hislion had treed again. 

"Waa-hoo!" rolled down from above. 

I saw Emett farther to the left from the point where he had justappeared. 

"Where--can--I--get--down?"

I surveyed the walls of the Bay. Cliff on cliff, slide on slide, jumble, crag, and ruin, baffled my gaze. But I finally picked out apath. 

"Farther to the left, " I yelled, and waited. He passed on, Don at hisheels. 

"There, " I yelled again, "stop there; let Don go down with your lasso, and come yourself. "

I watched him swing the hound down a wall, and pull the slip noosefree. Don slid to the edge of a slope, trotted to the right and leftof crags, threaded the narrow places, and turned in the direction ofthe baying hounds. He passed on the verge of precipices that made metremble for him; but sure-footed as a goat, he went on safely down, todisappear far to my right. 

Then I saw Emett sliding, leg wrapped around his lasso, down the firststep of the rim. His lasso, doubled so as to reach round a cedarabove, was too short to extend to the landing below. He dropped, raising a cloud of dust, and starting the stones. Pulling one end ofhis lasso up around the cedar he gathered it in a coil on his arm andfaced forward, following Don's trail. 

What strides he took! In the clear light, with that wild red andyellow background, with the stones and gravel roaring down, streamingover the walls like waterfalls, he seemed a giant pursuing a foe. Fromtime to time he sent up a yell of encouragement that wound down thecanyon, to be answered by Jones and the baying hounds and then thestrange echoes. At last he passed out of sight behind the crests ofthe trees; I heard him going down, down till the sounds came up faintand hollow. 

I was left absolutely alone with my two lions and never did a hunterso delight in a situation. I sat there in the sun watching them. For along time they were quiet, listening. But as the bays and yells belowdiminished in volume and occurrence and then ceased altogether, theybecame restless. It was then that I, remembering the lion I had heldon top of the crag, began to bark like a hound. The lions became quietonce more. 

I bayed them for an hour. My voice grew from hoarse to hoarser, andfinally failed in my throat. The lions immediately grew restlessagain. The lower one hissed, spat and growled at me, and made manyattempts to start down, each one of which I frustrated by throwingstones under the tree. At length he made one more determined effort, turned head downward, and stepped from branch to branch. 

I dashed down the incline with a stone in one hand and a long club inthe other. Instinctively I knew I must hurt him--make him fear me. If he got far enough down to jump, he would either escape or have mehelpless. I aimed deliberately at him, and hit him square in the ribs. He exploded in a spit-roar that raised my hair. Directly under him Iwielded my club, pounded on the tree, thrashed at the branches and, like the crazy fool that I was, yelled at him:

"Go back! Go back! Don't you dare come down! I'd break your old headfor you!"

Foolish or not, this means effectually stopped the descent. He climbedto his first perch. It was then, realizing what I had done, that Iwould certainly have made tracks from under the piņon, if I had notheard the faint yelp of a hound. 

I listened. It came again, faint but clearer. I looked up at my lions. They too heard, for they were very still. I saw how strained they heldtheir heads. I backed a little way up the slope. Then the faint yelpfloated up again in the silence. Such dead, strange silence, thatseemed never to have been broken! I saw the lions quiver, and if Iever heard anything in my life I heard their hearts thump. The yelpwafted up again, closer this time. I recognized it; it belonged toDon. The great hound on the back trail of the other lion was coming tomy rescue. 

"It's Don! It's Don! It's Don!" I cried, shaking my club at the lions. "It's all up with you now!" What feelings stirred me then! Pity forthose lions dominated me. Big, tawny, cruel fellows as they were, theyshivered with fright. Their sides trembled. But pity did not hold melong; Don's yelp, now getting clear and sharp, brought back the rushof savage, grim sensations. 

A full-toned bay attracted my attention from the lions to the downwardslope. I saw a yellow form moving under the trees and climbing fast. It was Don. 

"Hi! Hi! old boy!" I yelled. 

Then it seemed he moved up like a shot and stood all his long length, forepaws against the piņon, his deep bay ringing defiance to thelions. 

It was a great relief, not to say a probable necessity, for me to sitdown just then. 

"Now come down, " I said to my lions; "you can't catch that hound, andyou can't get away from him. "

Moments passed. I was just on the point of deciding to go down tohurry up my comrades, when I heard the other hounds coming. Yelp onyelp, bay on bay, made welcome music to my ears. Then a black andyellow, swiftly flying string of hounds bore into sight down theslope, streaked up and circled the piņon. 

Jones, who at last showed his tall stooping form on the steep ascent, seemed as long in coming as the hounds had been swift. 

"Did you get the lion? Where's Emett?" I asked in breathlesseagerness. 

"Lion tied--all fast, " replied the panting Jones. "Left Emett--toguard--him. "

"What are we to do now?"

"Wait--till I get my breath. Think out--a plan. We can't get bothlions--out of one tree. "

"All right, " I replied, after a moment's thought. "I'll tie Sounderand Moze. You go up the tree. That first lion will jump, sure; he'salmost ready now. Don and the other hounds will tree him again prettysoon. If he runs up the canyon, well and good. Then, if you can getthe lasso on the other, I'll yell for Emett to come up to help you, and I'll follow Don. "

Jones began the ascent of the piņon. The branches were not too close, affording him easy climbing. Before we looked for even a move on thepart of the lions, the lower one began stepping down. I yelled awarning, but Jones did not have time to take advantage of it. He hadhalf turned, meaning to swing out and drop, when the lion planted bothforepaws upon his back. Jones went sprawling down with the lion almoston him. 

Don had his teeth in the lion before he touched the ground, and whenhe did strike the rest of the hounds were on him. A cloud of dustrolled down the slope. The lion broke loose and with great, springybounds ran up the canyon, Don and his followers hot-footing it afterhim. 

Moze and Sounder broke the dead sapling to which I had tied them, anddragging it behind them, endeavored in frenzied action to join thechase. I drew them back, loosening the rope, so in case the other lionjumped I could free them quickly. 

Jones calmly gathered himself up, rearranged his lasso, took his longstick, and proceeded to mount the piņon again. I waited till I saw himslip the noose over the lion's head, then I ran down the slope toyell for Emett. He answered at once. I told him to hurry to Jones'assistance. With that I headed up the canyon. 

I hung close to the broad trail left by the lion and his pursuers. Ipassed perilously near the brink of precipices, but fear of them wasnot in me that day. I passed out of the Bay into the mouth of LeftCanyon, and began to climb. The baying of the hounds directed me. Inthe box of yellow walls the chorus seemed to come from a hundred dogs. 

When I found them, close to a low cliff, baying the lion in a thick, dark piņon, Ranger leaped into my arms and next Don stood up againstme with his paws on my shoulders. These were strange actions, andthough I marked it at the moment, I had ceased to wonder at ourhounds. I took one picture as the lion sat in the dark shade, and thenclimbed to the low cliff and sat down. I called Don to me and heldhim. In case our quarry leaped upon the cliff I wanted a hound to putquickly on his trail. 

Another hour passed. It must have been a dark hour for the lion--helooked as if it were--and one of impatience for the baying hounds, butfor me it was a full hour. Alone with the hounds and a lion, far fromthe walks of men, walled in by the wild-colored cliffs, with the dry, sweet smell of cedar and piņon, I asked no more. 

Sounder and Moze, vociferously venting their arrival, were forerunnersto Jones. I saw his gray locks waving in the breeze, and yelled forhim to take his time. As he reached me the lion jumped and ran up thecanyon. This suited me, for I knew he would take to a tree soon andthe farther up he went the less distance we would have to pack him. From the cliff I saw him run up a slope, pass a big cedar, cunninglyturn on his trail, and then climb into the tree and hide in itsthickest part. Don passed him, got off the trail, and ran at fault. The others, so used to his leadership, were also baffled. But Jude, crippled and slow, brought up the rear, and she did not go a yardbeyond where the lion turned. She opened up her deep call under thecedar, and in a moment the howling pack were around her. 

Jones and I toiled laboriously upward. He had brought my lasso, andhe handed it to me with the significant remark that I would soon haveneed of it. 

The cedar was bushy and overhung a yellow, bare slope that made Jonesshake his head. He climbed the tree, lassoed the spitting lion andthen leaped down to my side. By united and determined efforts wepulled the lion off the limb and let him down. The hounds began toleap at him. We both roared in a rage at them but to no use. 

"Hold him there!" shouted Jones, leaving me with the lasso while hesprang forward. 

The weight of the animal dragged me forward and, had I not taken ahalf hitch round a dead snag, would have lifted me off my feet orpulled the lasso from my hands. As it was, the choking lion, nowwithin reach of the furious, leaping hounds, swung to and fro beforemy face. He could not see me, but his frantic lunges narrowly missedme. 

If never before, Jones then showed his genius. Don had hold of thelion's flank, and Jones, grabbing the hound by the hind legs, threwhim down the slope. Don fell and rolled a hundred feet before hecaught himself. Then Jones threw old Moze rolling, and Ranger, and allexcept faithful Jude. Before they could get back he roped the lionagain and made fast to a tree. Then he yelled for me to let go. Thelion fell. Jones grabbed the lasso, at the same time calling for me tostop the hounds. As they came bounding up the steep slope, I had toclub the noble fellows into submission. 

Before the lion recovered wholly from his severe choking, we had hispaws bound fast. Then he could only heave his tawny sides, glare andspit at us. 

"Now what?" asked Jones. "Emett is watching the second lion, which wefastened by chain and lasso to a swinging branch. I'm all in. My heartwon't stand any more climb. "

"You go to camp for the pack horses, " I said briefly. "Bring them all, and all the packs, and Navvy, too. I'll help Emett tie up the secondlion, and then we'll pack them both up here to this one. You take thehounds with you. "

"Can you tie up that lion?" asked Jones. "Mind you, he's loose exceptfor a collar and chain. His claws haven't been clipped. Besides, it'llbe an awful job to pack those two lions up here. "

"We can try, " I said. "You hustle to camp. Your horse is right up backof here, across the point, if I don't mistake my bearings. "

Jones, admonishing me again, called the hounds and wearily climbed theslope. I waited until he was out of hearing; then began to retrace mytrail down into the canyon. I made the descent in quick time, to findEmett standing guard over the lion. The beast had been tied to anoverhanging branch that swung violently with every move he made. 

"When I got here, " said Emett, "he was hanging over the side of thatrock, almost choked to death. I drove him into this corner between therocks and the tree, where he has been comparatively quiet. Now, what'sup? Where is Jones? Did you get the third lion?"

I related what had occurred, and then said we were to tie this lionand pack him with the other one up the canyon, to meet Jones and thehorses. 

"All right, " replied Emett, with a grim laugh. "We'd better get atit. Now I'm some worried about the lion we left below. He ought to bebrought up, but we both can't go. This lion here will kill himself. "

"What will the other one weigh?"

"All of one hundred and fifty pounds. "

"You can't pack him alone. "

"I'll try, and I reckon that's the best plan. Watch this fellow andkeep him in the corner. "

Emett left me then, and I began a third long vigil beside a lion. Therest was more than welcome. An hour and a half passed before I heardthe sliding of stones below, which told me that Emett was coming. Heappeared on the slope almost bent double, carrying the lion, headdownward, before him. He could climb only a few steps without loweringhis burden and resting. 

I ran down to meet him. We secured a stout pole, and slipping thisbetween the lion's paws, below where they were tied, we managed tocarry him fairly well, and after several rests, got him up alongsidethe other. 

"Now to tie that rascal!" exclaimed Emett. "Jones said he was themeanest one he'd tackled, and I believe it. We'll cut a piece off ofeach lasso, and unravel them so as to get strings. I wish Jones hadn'ttied the lasso to that swinging branch. "

"I'll go and untie it. " Acting on this suggestion I climbed the treeand started out on the branch. The lion growled fiercely. 

"I'm afraid you'd better stop, " warned Emett. "That branch is bending, and the lion can reach you. "

But despite this I slipped out a couple of yards farther, and hadalmost gotten to the knotted lasso, when the branch swayed and bentalarmingly. The lion sprang from his corner and crouched under mesnarling and spitting, with every indication of leaping. 

"Jump! Jump! Jump!" shouted Emett hoarsely. 

[Illustration: BILLY IN CAMP]

[Illustration: LION LICKING SNOWBALL]

I dared not, for I could not jump far enough to get out of the lion'sreach. I raised my legs and began to slide myself back up the branch. The lion leaped, missing me, but scattering the dead twigs. Then thebeast, beside himself with fury, half leaped, half stood up, andreached for me. I looked down into his blazing eyes, and open mouthand saw his white fangs. 

Everything grew blurred before my eyes. I desperately fought forcontrol over mind and muscle. I heard hoarse roars from Emett. ThenI felt a hot, burning pain in my wrist, which stung all my facultiesinto keen life again. 

I saw the lion's beaked claws fastened in my leather wrist-band. Atthe same instant Emett dashed under the branch, and grasped the lion'stail. One powerful lunge of his broad shoulders tore the lion looseand flung him down the slope to the full extent of his lasso. Quickas thought I jumped down, and just in time to prevent Emett fromattacking the lion with the heavy pole we had used. 

"I'll kill him! I'll kill him!" roared Emett. 

"No you won't, " I replied, quietly, for my pain had served to soothemy excitement as well as to make me more determined. "We'll tie up thedarned tiger, if he cuts us all to pieces. You know how Jones willgive us the laugh if we fail. Here, bind up my wrist. "

Mention of Jones' probable ridicule and sight of my injury cooledEmett. 

"It's a nasty scratch, " he said, binding my handkerchief round it. "The leather saved your hand from being torn off. He's an ugly brute, but you're right, we'll tie him. Now, let's each take a lasso andworry him till we get hold of a paw. Then we can stretch him out. "

Jones did a fiendish thing when he tied that lion to the swingingbranch. It was almost worse than having him entirely free. He had acircle almost twenty feet in diameter in which he could run and leapat will. It seemed he was in the air all the time. First at Emett, than at me he sprang, mouth agape, eyes wild, claws spread. We whippedhim with our nooses, but not one would hold. He always tore it offbefore we could draw it tight. I secured a precarious hold on one hindpaw and straightened my lasso. 

"That's far enough, " cried Emett. "Now hold him tight; don't lift himoff the ground. "

I had backed up the slope. Emett faced the lion, noose ready, waitingfor a favorable chance to rope a front paw. The lion crouched low andtense, only his long tail lashing back and forth across my lasso. Emett threw the loop in front of the spread paws, now half sunk intothe dust. 

"Ease up; ease up, " said he. "I'll tease him to jump into the noose. "

I let my rope sag. Emett poked a stick into the lion's face. All atonce I saw the slack in the lasso which was tied to the lion's chain. Before I could yell to warn my comrade the beast leaped. My ropeburned as it tore through my hands. The lion sailed into the air, hispaws wide-spread like wings, and one of them struck Emett on the headand rolled him on the slope. I jerked back on my rope only to find ithad slipped its hold. 

"He slugged me one, " remarked Emett, calmly rising and picking up hishat. "Did he break the skin?"

"No, but he tore your hat band off, " I replied. "Let's keep at him. "

For a few moments or an hour--no one will ever know how long--we ranround him, raising the dust, scattering the stones, breaking thebranches, dodging his onslaughts. He leaped at us to the full lengthof his tether, sailing right into our faces, a fierce, uncowed, tigerish beast. If it had not been for the collar and swivel he wouldhave choked himself a hundred times. Quick as a cat, supple, powerful, tireless, he kept on the go, whirling, bounding, leaping, rolling, till it seemed we would never catch him. 

"If anything breaks, he'll get one of us, " cried Emett. "I felt hisbreath that time. "

"Lord! How I wish we had some of those fellows here who say lions arerank cowards!" I exclaimed. 

In one of his sweeping side swings the lion struck the rock and hungthere on its flat surface with his tail hanging over. 

"Attract his attention, " shouted Emett, "but don't get too close. Don't make him jump. "

While I slowly manoeuvered in front of the lion, Emett slipped behindthe rock, lunged for the long tail and got a good hold of it. Thenwith a whoop he ran around the rock, carrying the kicking, squallinglion clear of the ground. 

"Now's your chance, " he yelled. "Rope a hind foot! I can hold him. "

In a second I had a noose fast on both hind paws, and then passed myrope to Emett. While he held the lion I again climbed the tree, untiedthe knot that had caused so much trouble, and very shortly we had ourobstinate captive stretched out between two trees. After that we tooka much needed breathing spell. 

"Not very scientific, " growled Emett, by way of apologizing for ourcrude work, "but we had to get him some way. "

"Emett, do you know I believe Jones put up a job on us?" I said. 

"Well, maybe he did. We had the job all right. But we'll make shortwork of him now. "

He certainly went at it in a way that alarmed me and would haveelectrified Jones. While I held the chain Emett muzzled the lionwith a stick and a strand of lasso. His big blacksmith's hands held, twisted and tied with remorseless strength. 

"Now for the hardest part of it, " said he, "packing him up. "

We toiled and drudged upward, resting every few yards, wet with sweat, boiling with heat, parching for water. We slipped and fell, got up toslip and fall again. The dust choked us. We senselessly risked ourlives on the brinks of precipices. We had no thought save to get thelion up. One hour of unremitting labor saw our task finished, so far. Then we wearily went down for the other. 

"This one is the heaviest, " gloomily said Emett. 

We had to climb partly sidewise with the pole in the hollow of ourelbows. The lion dragged head downward, catching in the brush andon the stones. Our rests became more frequent. Emett, who had thedownward end of the pole, and therefore thrice the weight, whistledwhen he drew breath. Half the time I saw red mist before my eyes. HowI hated the sliding stones!

"Wait, " panted Emett once. "You're--younger--than me--wait!"

For that Mormon giant--used all his days to strenuous toil, peril andprivation--to ask me to wait for him, was a compliment which I valuedmore than any I had ever received. 

At last we dropped our burden in the shade of a cedar where theother lions lay, and we stretched ourselves. A long, sweet rest cameabruptly to end with Emett's next words. 

"The lions are choking! They're dying of thirst! We must have water!"

One glance at the poor, gasping, frothing beasts, proved to me thenature of our extremity. 

"Water in this desert! Where will we find it? Oh! why, did I forget mycanteen!"

After all our hopes, our efforts, our tragedies, and finally ourwonderful good fortune, to lose these beautiful lions for lack of alittle water was sickening, maddening. 

"Think quick!" cried Emett. "I'm no good; I'm all in. But you mustfind water. It snowed yesterday. There's water somewhere. "

Into my mind flashed a picture of the many little pockets beaten byrains into the shelves and promontories of the canyon rim. With thethought I was on the jump. I ran; I climbed; I seemed to have wings; Ireached the rim, and hurried along it with eager gaze. I swung down ona cedar branch to a projecting point of rock. Small depressions wereeverywhere still damp, but the water had evaporated. But I would notgive up. I jumped from rock to rock, and climbed over scaly ledges, and set tons of yellow shale into motion. And I found on a raggedpromontory many little, round holes, some a foot deep, all full ofclear water. Using my handkerchief as a sponge I filled my cap. 

Then began my journey down. I carried the cap with both hands andbalanced myself like a tight-rope performer. I zigzagged the slopes;slipped over stones; leaped fissures and traversed yellow slides. I safely descended places that in an ordinary moment would havepresented insurmountable obstacles, and burst down upon Emett with anIndian yell of triumph. 

"Good!" ejaculated he. If I had not known it already, the way his facechanged would have told me of his love for animals. He grasped a lionby the ears and held his head up. I saturated my handkerchief andsqueezed the water into his mouth. He wheezed, coughed, choked, but toour joy he swallowed. He had to swallow. One after the other we servedthem so, seeing with unmistakable relief the sure signs of recovery. Their eyes cleared and brightened; the dry coughing that distressed usso ceased; the froth came no more. The savage fellow that had foughtus to a standstill, and for which we had named him Spitfire, raisedhis head, the gold in his beautiful eyes darkened to fire and hegrowled his return to life and defiance. 

Emett and I sank back in unutterable relief. 

"Waa-hoo!" Jones' yell came, breaking the warm quiet of the slope. Our comrade appeared riding down. The voice of the Indian, calling toMarc, mingled with the ringing of iron-shod hoofs on the stones. 

Jones surveyed the small level spot in the shade of the cedars. Hegazed from the lions to us, his stern face relaxed, and his dry laughcracked. 

"Doggone me, if you didn't do it!"

XIII

A strange procession soon emerged from Left Canyon and stranger to usthan the lion heads bobbing out of the alfagoes was the sight of Navvyriding in front of the lions. I kept well in the rear, for if anythinghappened, which I calculated was more than likely, I wanted to seeit. Before we had reached the outskirts of pines, I observed that thepiece of lasso around Spitfire's nose had worked loose. 

Just as I was about to make this known to Jones, the lion opened acorner of his mouth and fastened his teeth in the Navajo's overalls. He did not catch the flesh, for when Navvy turned around he wore onlyan expression of curiosity. But when he saw Spitfire chewing him heuttered a shrill scream and fell sidewise off his horse. 

Then two difficulties presented themselves to us, to catch thefrightened horse and persuade the Indian he had not been bitten. Wefailed in the latter. Navvy gave us and the lions a wide berth, andwalked to camp. 

Jim was waiting for us, and said he had chased a lion south along therim till the hounds got away from him. 

Spitfire, having already been chained, was the first lion weendeavored to introduce to our family of captives. He raised such afearful row that we had to remove him some distance from the others. 

"We have two dog chains, " said Jones, "but not a collar or a swivelin camp. We can't chain the lions without swivels. They'd chokethemselves in two minutes. "

Once more, for the hundredth time, Emett came to our rescue with hisinventive and mechanical skill. He took the largest pair of hobbles wehad, and with an axe, a knife and Jones' wire nippers, fashioned twocollars with swivels that for strength and serviceableness improvedsomewhat on those we had bought. 

Darkness was enveloping the forest when we finished supper. I fellinto my bed and, despite the throbbing and burning of my wrist, soon lapsed into slumber. And I crawled out next morning late forbreakfast, stiff, worn out, crippled, but happy. Six lions roaring aconcert for me was quite conducive to contentment. 

Emett interestingly engaged himself on a new pair of trousers, whichhe had contrived to produce from two of our empty meal-bags. The lowerhalf of his overalls had gone to decorate the cedar spikes and brush, and these new bag-leg trousers, while somewhat remarkable for design, answered the purpose well enough. Jones' coat was somewhere along thecanyon rim, his shoes were full of holes, his shirt in strips, and histrousers in rags. Jim looked like a scarecrow. My clothes, being ofheavy waterproofed duck, had stood the hard usage in a manner to bringforth the unanimous admiration of my companions. 

"Well, fellows, " said Jones, "there's six lions, and that's more thanwe can pack out of here. Have you had enough hunting? I have. "

"And I, " rejoined Emett. 

"Shore you can bet I have, " drawled Jim. 

"One more day, boys, and then I've done, " said I. "Only one more day!"

Signs of relief on the faces of my good comrades showed how they tookthis evidence of my satisfied ambition. 

I spent all the afternoon with the lions, photographing them, listening to them spit and growl, watching them fight their chains, and roll up like balls of fire. From different parts of the forest Itried to creep unsuspected upon them; but always when I peeped outfrom behind a tree or log, every pair of ears would be erect, everypair of eyes gleaming and suspicious. 

Spitfire afforded more amusement than all the others. He had indeedthe temper of a king; he had been born for sovereignty, not slavery. To intimidate me he tried every manner of expression and utterance, and failing, he always ended with a spring in the air to the length ofhis chain. This means was always effective. I simply could not standstill when he leaped; and in turn I tried every artifice I could thinkof to make him back away from me, to take refuge behind his tree. Iran at him with a club as if I were going to kill him. He waited, crouching. Finally, in dire extremity, I bethought me of a red flannelhood that Emett had given me, saying I might use it on cold nights. This was indeed a weird, flaming headgear, falling like a cloak downover the shoulders. I put it on, and, camera in hand, started to crawlon all fours toward Spitfire. 

[Illustration: SOME OF OUR MENAGERIE IN BUCKSKIN FOREST]

[Illustration: WHITE MUSTANG STALLION WITH HIS BUNCH OF BLACKS INSNAKE GULCH]

I needed no one to tell me that this proceeding was entirely beyondhis comprehension. In his astonishment he forgot to spit and growl, and he backed behind the little pine, from which he regarded me withgrowing perplexity. Then, having revenged myself on him, and getting apicture, I left him in peace. 

XIV

I awoke before dawn, and lay watching the dark shadows change intogray, and gray into light. The Navajo chanted solemnly and low hismorning song. I got up with the keen eagerness of the hunter who facesthe last day of his hunt. 

I warmed my frozen fingers at the fire. A hot breakfast smoked on thered coals. We ate while Navvy fed and saddled the horses. 

"Shore, they'll be somethin' doin' to-day, " said Jim, fatalistically. 

"We haven't crippled a horse yet, " put in Emett hopefully. Don led thepack and us down the ridge, out of the pines into the sage. The sun, ared ball, glared out of the eastern mist, shedding a dull glow onthe ramparts of the far canyon walls. A herd of white-tailed deerscattered before the hounds. Blue grouse whirred from under ourhorses' feet. 

"Spread out, " ordered Jones, and though he meant the hounds, we allfollowed his suggestion, as the wisest course. 

Ranger began to work up the sage ridge to the right. Jones, Emettand I followed, while Jim rode away to the left. Gradually the spacewidened, and as we neared the cedars, a sharply defined, deep canyonseparated us. 

We heard Don open up, then Sounder. Ranger left the trail he wastrying to work out in the thick sage, and bounded in the direction ofthe rest of the pack. We reined in to listen. 

First Don, then Sounder, then Jude, then one of the pups bayedeagerly, telling us they were hunting hard. Suddenly the bays blendedin one savage sound. 

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" cracked the cool, thin air. We saw Jim wave his handfrom the far side of the canyon, spur his horse into action, anddisappear into the cedars. 

"Stick close together, " yelled Jones, as we launched forward. We madethe mistake of not going back to cross the canyon, for the hounds soonwent up the opposite side. As we rode on and on, the sounds of thechase lessened, and finally ceased. To our great chagrin we found itnecessary to retrace our steps, and when we did get over the deepgully, so much time had elapsed that we despaired of coming up withJim. Emett led, keeping close on Jim's trail, which showed plain inthe dust, and we followed. 

Up and down ravines, over ridges, through sage flats and cedarforests, to and fro, around and around, we trailed Jim and the hounds. From time to time one of us let out a long yell. 

"I see a big lion track, " called Jones once, and that stirred us onfaster. Fully an hour passed before Jones halted us, saying we hadbest try a signal. I dismounted, while Emett rolled his great voicethrough the cedars. 

A long silence ensued. From the depths of the forest Jim's answerstruck faintly on my ear. With a word to my companions I leaped on mymustang and led the way. I rode as far as I could mark a straight linewith my eye, then stopped to wait for another cry. In this way, slowlybut surely we closed in on Jim. 

We found him on the verge of the Bay, in the small glade where I hadleft my horse the day I followed Don alone down the canyon. Jim wasengaged in binding up the leg of his horse. The baying of the houndsfloated up over the rim. 

"What's up?" queried Jones. 

"Old Sultan. That's what, " replied Jim. "We run plumb into him. We'vehad him in five trees. It ain't been long since he was in that cedarthere. When he jumped the yellow pup was in the way an' got killed. My horse just managed to jump clear of the big lion, an' as it was, nearly broke his leg. "

Emett examined the leg and pronounced it badly strained, and advisedJim to lead the horse back to camp. Jones and I stood a moment overthe remains of the yellow pup, and presently Emett joined us. 

"He was the most playful one of the pack, " said Emett, and then heplaced the limp, bloody body in a crack, and laid several slabs ofstone over it. 

"Hurry after the other hounds, " said Jim. "That lion will kill themone by one. An' look out for him!"

If we needed an incentive, the danger threatening the hounds furnishedone; but I calculated the death of the pup was enough. Emett had aflare in his eye, Jones looked darker and more grim than ever, and Ihad sensations that boded ill to old Sultan. 

"Fellows, " I said, "I've been down this place, and I know where theold brute has gone; so come on. "

I laid aside my coat, chaps and rifle, feeling that the business aheadwas stern and difficult. Then I faced the canyon. Down slopes, amongrocks, under piņons, around yellow walls, along slides, the two bigmen followed me with heavy steps. We reached the white stream-bed, and sliding, slipping, jumping, always down and down, we came at lastwithin sound of the hounds. We found them baying wildly under a piņonon the brink of the deep cove. 

Then, at once, we all saw old Sultan close at hand. He was of immensesize; his color was almost gray; his head huge, his paws heavy andround. He did not spit, nor snarl, nor growl; he did not look at thehounds, but kept his half-shut eyes upon us. 

We had no time to make a move before he left his perch and hit theground with a thud. He walked by the baying hounds, looked over thebrink of the cove, and without an instant of hesitation, leaped down. The rattling crash of sliding stones came up with a cloud of dust. Then we saw him leisurely picking his way among the rough stones. 

Exclamations from the three of us attested to what we thought of thatleap. 

"Look the place over, " called Jones. "I think we've got him. "

The cove was a hole hollowed out by running water. At its head, wherethe perpendicular wall curved, the height was not less than fortyfeet. The walls became higher as the cove deepened toward the canyon. It had a length of perhaps a hundred yards, and a width of perhapshalf as many. The floor was mass on mass of splintered rock. 

"Let the hounds down on a lasso, " said Jones. 

Easier said than done! Sounder, Ranger, Jude refused. Old Mozegrumbled and broke away. But Don, stern and savage, allowed Jones totie him in a slip noose. 

"It's a shame to send that grand hound to his death, " protested Emett. 

"We'll all go down, " declared Jones. 

"We can't. One will have to stay up here to help the other two out, "replied Emett. 

"You're the strongest; you stay up, " said Jones. "Better work alongthe wall and see if you can locate the lion. "

[Illustration: ON THE WAY HOME]

[Illustration: RIDING WITH A NAVAJO]

We let Don down into the hole. He kicked himself loose before reachingthe bottom and then, yelping, he went out of sight among the boulders. Moze, as if ashamed, came whining to us. We slipped a noose around himand lowered him, kicking and barking, to the rocky floor. Jones madethe lasso fast to a cedar root, and I slid down, like a flash, burningmy hands. Jones swung himself over, wrapped his leg around the rope, and came down, to hit the ground with a thump. Then, lassos in hands, we began clambering over the broken fragments. 

For a few moments we were lost to sights and sounds away from ourimmediate vicinity. The bottom of the cove afforded hard going. Deadpiņons and cedars blocked our way; the great, jagged stones offered nopassage. We crawled, climbed, and jumped from piece to piece. 

A yell from Emett halted us. We saw him above, on the extreme point ofwall. Waving his arms, he yelled unintelligible commands to us. Thefierce baying of Don and Moze added to our desperate energy. 

The last jumble of splintered rock cleared, we faced a terrible andwonderful scene. 

"Look! Look!" I gasped to Jones. 

A wide, bare strip of stone lay a few yards beneath us; and in thecenter of this last step sat the great lion on his haunches with hislong tail lashing out over the precipice. Back to the canyon, heconfronted the furious hounds; his demeanor had changed to one ofsavage apprehension. 

When Jones and I appeared, old Sultan abruptly turned his back to thehounds and looked down into the canyon. He walked the whole length ofthe bare rock with his head stretched over. He was looking for a nicheor a step whereby he might again elude his foes. 

Faster lashed his tail; farther and farther stretched his neck. Hestopped, and with head bent so far over the abyss that it seemed hemust fall, he looked and looked. 

How grandly he fitted the savage sublimity of that place! Thetremendous purple canyon depths lay beneath him. He stood on the laststep of his mighty throne. The great downward slopes had failed him. Majestically and slowly he turned from the deep that offered no hope. 

As he turned, Jones cast the noose of his lasso perfectly round theburly neck. Sultan roared and worked his jaws, but he did not leap. Jones must have expected such a move, for he fastened his rope to aspur of rock. Standing there, revolver gripped, hearing the bayinghounds, the roaring lion, and Jones' yells mingled with Emett's, I hadno idea what to do. I was in a trance of sensations. 

Old Sultan ran rather than leaped at us. Jones evaded the rush byfalling behind a stone, but still did not get out of danger. Don flewat the lion's neck and Moze buried his teeth in a flank. Then thethree rolled on the rock dangerously near the verge. 

Bellowing, Jones grasped the lasso and pulled. Still holding myrevolver, I leaped to his assistance, and together we pulled andjerked. Don got away from the lion with remarkable quickness. ButMoze, slow and dogged, could not elude the outstretched paws, whichfastened in his side and leg. We pulled so hard we slowly raised thelion. Moze, never whimpering, clawed and scratched at the rock in hisefforts to escape. The lion's red tongue protruded from his drippingjaws. We heard the rend of hide as our efforts, combined with those ofMoze, loosed him from the great yellow claws. 

The lion, whirling and wrestling, rolled over the precipice. When therope straightened with a twang, had it not been fastened to the rock, Jones and I would have jerked over the wall. The shock threw us to ourknees. 

For a moment we did not realize the situation. Emett's yells awakenedus. 

"Pull! Pull! Pull!" roared he. 

Then, knowing that old Sultan would hang himself in a few moments, weattempted to lift him. Jones pulled till his back cracked; I pulledtill I saw red before my eyes. Again and again we tried. We could lifthim only a few feet. Soon exhausted, we had to desist altogether. HowEmett roared and raged from his vantage-point above! He could see thelion in death throes. 

Suddenly he quieted down with the words: "All over; all over!" Then hesat still, looking into space. Jones sat mopping his brow. And I, allmy hot resentment vanished, lay on the rock, with eyes on the distantmesas. 

Presently Jones leaned over the verge with my lasso. 

"There, " he said, "I've roped one of his hind legs. Now we'll pull himup a little, then we'll fasten this rope, and pull on the other. "

So, foot by foot, we worked the heavy lion up over the wall. Hemust have been dead, though his sides heaved. Don sniffed at him indisdain. Moze, dusty and bloody, with a large strip of hide hangingfrom his flank, came up growling low and deep, and gave the lion alast vengeful bite. 

"We've been fools, " observed Jones, meditatively. "The excitement ofthe game made us lose our wits. I'll never rope another lion. "

I said nothing. While Moze licked his bloody leg and Don lay with hisfine head on my knees, Jones began to skin old Sultan. Once more thestrange, infinite silence enfolded the canyon. The far-off goldenwalls glistened in the sun; farther down, the purple clefts smoked. The many-hued peaks and mesas, aloof from each other, rose out of thedepths. It was a grand and gloomy scene of ruin where every glisteningdescent of rock was but a page of earth's history. 

It brought to my mind a faint appreciation of what time really meant;it spoke of an age of former men; it showed me the lonesome cragsof eagles, and the cliff lairs of lions; and it taught mutely, eloquently, a lesson of life--that men are still savage, still drivenby a spirit to roam, to hunt, and to slay. 

CHAPTER IV

TONTO BASIN

The start of a camping trip, the getting a big outfit together andpacked, and on the move, is always a difficult and laborsome job. Nevertheless, for me the preparation and the actual getting under wayhave always been matters of thrilling interest. This start of my huntin Arizona, September 24, 1918, was particularly momentous because Ihad brought my boy Romer with me for his first trip into the wilds. 

It may be that the boy was too young for such an undertaking. Hismother feared he would be injured; his teachers presaged his utterruin; his old nurse, with whom he waged war until he was free of her, averred that the best it could do for him would be to show what kindof stuff he was made of. His uncle R. C. Was stoutly in favor of takinghim. I believe the balance fell in Romer's favor when I rememberedmy own boyhood. As a youngster of three I had babbled of "bars an'buffers, " and woven fantastic and marvelous tales of fiction about myimagined adventures--a habit, alas! I have never yet outgrown. 

Anyway we only made six miles' travel on this September twenty-fourth, and Romer was with us. 

Indeed he was omnipresent. His keen, eager joy communicated itself tome. Once he rode up alongside me and said: "Dad, this's great, but I'drather do like Buck Duane. " The boy had read all of my books, in spiteof parents and teachers, and he knew them by heart, and invariablyliked the outlaws and gunmen best of all. 

We made camp at sunset, with a flare of gold along the west, and thePeaks rising rosy and clear to the north. We camped in a cut-over pineforest, where stumps and lopped tops and burned deadfalls made anaspect of blackened desolation. From a distance, however, the scenewas superb. At sunset there was a faint wind which soon died away. 

My old guide on so many trips across the Painted Desert was in chargeof the outfit. He was a wiry, gray, old pioneer, over seventy years, hollow-cheeked and bronzed, with blue-gray eyes still keen with fire. He was no longer robust, but he was tireless and willing. When he tolda story he always began: "In the early days--" His son Lee had chargeof the horses of which we had fourteen, two teams and ten saddlehorses. Lee was a typical westerner of many occupations--cowboy, rider, rancher, cattleman. He was small, thin, supple, quick, toughand strong. He had a bronzed face, always chapped, a hooked nose, gray-blue eyes like his father's, sharp and keen. 

Lee had engaged the only man he could find for a cook--Joe Isbel, atall, lithe cowboy, straight as an Indian, with powerful shoulders, round limbs, and slender waist, and Isbel was what the westernerscalled a broncho-buster. He was a prize-winning rider at allthe rodeos. Indeed, his seat in the saddle was individual andincomparable. He had a rough red-blue face, hard and rugged, like therocks he rode over so fearlessly, and his eyes were bright hazel, steady and hard. Isbel's vernacular was significant. Speaking of oneof our horses he said: "Like a mule he'll be your friend for twentyyears to git a chance to kick you. " Speaking of another that had to beshod he said: "Shore, he'll step high to-morrow. " Isbel appeared to beremarkably efficient as camp-rustler and cook, but he did not inspireme with confidence. In speaking of this to the Doyles I found themnon-committal on the subject. Westerners have sensitive feelings. Icould not tell whether they were offended or not, and I half regrettedmentioning my lack of confidence in Isbel. As it turned out, however, I was amply justified. 

Sievert Nielsen, whom I have mentioned elsewhere, was the fourth of mymen. 

Darkness had enveloped us at supper time. I was tired out, but thered-embered camp-fire, the cool air, the smell of wood-smoke, and thewhite stars kept me awake awhile. Romer had to be put to bed. He waswild with excitement. We had had a sleeping-bag made for him so thatonce snugly in it, with the flaps buckled he could not kick off theblankets. When we got him into it he quieted down and took exceedinginterest in his first bed in the open. He did not, however, go quicklyto sleep. Presently he called R. C. Over and whispered: "Say, UncleRome, I coiled a lasso an' put it under Nielsen's bed. When he'sasleep you go pull it. He's tenderfoot like Dad was. He'll think it'sa rattlesnake. " This trick Romer must have remembered from reading"The Last of the Plainsmen, " where I related what Buffalo Jones'cowboys did to me. Once Romer got that secret off his mind he fellasleep. 

The hour we spent sitting around the camp-fire was the most pleasantof that night, though I did not know it then. The smell of wood-smokeand the glow of live coals stirred memories of other camp-fires. I wasonce more enveloped by the sweetness and peace of the open, listeningto the sigh of the wind, and the faint tinkle of bells on the hobbledhorses. 

An uncomfortable night indeed it turned out to be. Our covers werescanty and did not number among them any blankets. The bed was hard asa rock, and lumpy. No sleep! As the night wore on the air grew colder, and I could not keep warm. At four a. M. I heard the howling ofcoyotes--a thrilling and well remembered wild chorus. After thatperfect stillness reigned. Presently I saw the morning star--big, blue-white, beautiful. Uncomfortable hours seemed well spent if thereward was sight of the morning star. How few people ever see it! Howvery few ever get a glimpse of it on a desert dawn!

Just then, about five-thirty, Romer woke up and yelled lustily: "Dad!My nose's froze. " This was a signal for me to laugh, and also to riseheroically. Not difficult because I wanted to stay in bed, but becauseI could hardly crawl out! Soon we had a fire roaring. At six the dawnwas still gray. Cold and nipping air, frost on everything, pale stars, a gold-red light in the east were proofs that I was again in the open. Soon a rose-colored flush beautified the Peaks. 

After breakfast we had trouble with the horses. This always happened. But it was made worse this morning because a young cowboy who happenedalong took upon himself the task of helping Lee. I suspected he wantedto show off a little. In throwing his lasso to rope one, the noosewent over the heads of two. Then he tried to hold both animals. Theydragged him, pulled the lasso out of his hands, and stampeded theother horses. These two roped together thundered off with the noosewidening. I was afraid they would split round a tree or stump, butfortunately the noose fell off one. As all the horses pounded off Iheard Romer remark to Isbel: "Say, Joe, I don't see any medals on thatcowboy. " Isbel roared, and said: "Wal, Romer, you shore hit the nail, on the haid!"

Owing to that stampede we did not get saddled and started till eleveno'clock. At first I was so sore and stiff from the hard bed that Irode a while on the wagon with Doyle. Many a mile I had ridden withhim, and many a story he had related. This time he told about sittingon a jury at Prescott where they brought in as evidence bloody shirts, overalls, guns, knives, until there was such a pile that the tablewould not hold them. Doyle was a mine of memories of the early days. 

Romer's mount was a little black, white-spotted horse named Rye. LeeDoyle had scoured the ranches to get this pony for the youngster. Ryewas small for a horse, about the size of an Indian mustang, and hewas gentle, as well as strong and fast. Romer had been given ridinglessons all that summer in the east, and upon his arrival at Flagstaffhe informed me that he could ride. I predicted he would be in thewagon before noon of the second day out. He offered to bet on it. I told him I disapproved of betting. He seemed to me to be daring, adaptable, self-willed; and I was divided between pride and anxiety asto the outcome of this trip for him. 

In the afternoon we reached Lake Mary, a long, ugly, muddy pond in avalley between pine-slopes. Dead and ghastly trees stood in the water, and the shores were cattle-tracked. Probably to the ranchers thismud-hole was a pleasing picture, but to me, who loved the beauty ofthe desert before its productiveness, it was hideous. When we passedLake Mary, and farther on the last of the cut-over timber-land, webegan to get into wonderful country. We traveled about sixteen miles, rather a small day's ride. Romer stayed on his horse all through thatride, and when we selected a camp site for the night he said to me:"Well, you're lucky you wouldn't bet. "

Camp that evening was in a valley with stately pines straggling downto the level. On the other slope the pines came down in groups. Therim of this opposite slope was high, rugged, iron-colored, with cracksand holes. Before supper I walked up the slope back of our camp, tocome upon level, rocky ground for a mile, then pines again leading toa low, green mountain with lighter patches of aspen. The level, openstrip was gray in color. Arizona color and Arizona country! Gray ofsage, rocks, pines, cedars, piņons, heights and depths and plains, wild and open and lonely--that was Arizona. 

That night I obtained some rest and sleep, lying awake only a fewhours, during which time I turned from side to side to find a softplace in the hard bed. Under such circumstances I always thoughtof the hard beds of the Greeks and the Spartans. Next day we rodetwenty-three miles. On horseback trips like this it was every one forhimself. Sometimes we would be spread out, all separated; at others wewould be bunched; and again we would ride in couples. The morning wasan ordeal for me, as at first I could scarcely sit my saddle; inthe afternoon, however, riding grew to be less severe. The road ledthrough a winding, shallow valley, with clumps of pine here and there, and cedars on the slopes. Romer rode all the way, half the time withhis feet out of the stirrups, like a western boy born to the saddle, and he wanted to go fast all the time. Camp was made at a place calledFulton Spring. It might have been a spring once, but now it was amud-hole with a dead cow lying in it. Clear, cold water is necessaryto my pleasure, if not to my health. I have lived on sheep water--thewater holes being tainted by sheep--and alkali water and soapy waterof the desert, but never happily. How I hailed the clear, cold, swiftly-flowing springs!

This third camp lay in a woods where the pines were beautiful and thesilence noticeable. Upon asking Romer to enumerate the things I hadcalled to his attention, the few times I could catch up with him onthe day's journey, he promptly replied--two big spiders--tarantulas, a hawk, and Mormon Lake. This lake was another snow-melted mud-hole, said to contain fish. I doubted that. Perhaps the little bull-headcatfish might survive in such muddy water, but I did not believe bassor perch could. 

One familiar feature of Arizona travel manifested itself to me thatday--the dry air. My nails became brittle and my lips began to crack. I have had my lips cracked so severely that when I tried to bite breadthey would split and bleed and hurt so that I could not eat. Thismatter of sore lips was for long a painful matter. I tried manyremedies, and finally found one, camphor ice, that would prevent thedrying and cracking. 

Next day at dawn the forest was full of the soughing of wind in thepines--a wind that presaged storm. No stars showed. Romer-boy piledout at six o'clock. I had to follow him. The sky was dark and cloudy. Only a faint light showed in the east and it was just light enoughto see when we ate breakfast. Owing to strayed horses we did not getstarted till after nine o'clock. 

Five miles through the woods, gradually descending, led us into anopen plain where there was a grass-bordered pond full of ducks. Hereappeared an opportunity to get some meat. R. C. Tried with shotgun andI with rifle, all to no avail. These ducks were shy. Romer seemed toevince some disdain at our failure, but he did not voice his feelings. We found some wild-turkey tracks, and a few feathers, which put ourhopes high. 

Crossing the open ground we again entered the forest, which graduallygrew thicker as we got down to a lower altitude. Oak trees began toshow in swales. And then we soon began to see squirrels, big, plump, gray fellows, with bushy tails almost silver. They appeared wilderthan we would have suspected, at that distance from the settlements. Romer was eager to hunt them, and with his usual persistence, succeeded at length in persuading his uncle to do so. 

To that end we rode out far ahead of the wagon and horses. Lee had ayellow dog he called Pups, a close-haired, keen-faced, muscular canineto which I had taken a dislike. To be fair to Pups, I had no reasonexcept that he barked all the time. Pups and his barking were destinedto make me hail them both with admiration and respect, but I had noidea of that then. Now this dog of Lee's would run ahead of us, trail squirrels, chase them, and tree them, whereupon he would barkvociferously. Sometimes up in the bushy top we would fail to spy thesquirrel, but we had no doubt one was there. Romer wasted many andmany a cartridge of the . 22 Winchester trying to hit a squirrel. Hehad practiced a good deal, and was a fairly good shot for a youngster, but hitting a little gray ball of fur high on a tree, or waving at thetip of a branch, was no easy matter. 

"Son, " I said, "you don't take after your Dad. "

And his uncle tried the lad's temper by teasing him about Wetzel. NowWetzel, the great Indian killer of frontier days, was Romer's favoritehero. 

"Gimme the . 20 gauge, " finally cried Romer, in desperation, with hiseyes flashing. 

Whereupon his uncle handed him the shotgun, with a word of cautionas to the trigger. This particular squirrel was pretty high up, presenting no easy target. Romer stood almost directly under it, raised the gun nearly straight up, waved and wobbled and hesitated, and finally fired. Down sailed the squirrel to hit with a plump. Thatwas Romer's first successful hunting experience. How proud he was ofthat gray squirrel! I suffered a pang to see the boy so radiant, sofull of fire at the killing of a beautiful creature of the woods. Thenagain I remembered my own first sensations. Boys are blood-thirstylittle savages. In their hunting, playing, even their reading, someelement of the wild brute instinct dominates them. They are worthydescendants of progenitors who had to fight and kill to live. Thisincident furnished me much food for reflection. I foresaw that beforethis trip was ended I must face some knotty problems. I hated to shoota squirrel even when I was hungry. Probably that was because I was nothungry enough. A starving man suffers no compunctions at the spillingof blood. On the contrary he revels in it with a fierce, primitivejoy. 

"Some shot, I'll say!" declared Romer to his uncle, loftily. And hesaid to me half a dozen times: "Say, Dad, wasn't it a grand peg?"

But toward the end of that afternoon his enthusiasm waned forshooting, for anything, especially riding. He kept asking when thewagon was going to stop. Once he yelled out: "Here's a peach of aplace to camp. " Then I asked him: "Romer, are you tired?" "Naw! Butwhat's the use ridin' till dark?" At length he had to give up and beput on the wagon. The moment was tragic for him. Soon, however, hebrightened at something Doyle told him, and began to ply the oldpioneer with rapid-fire questions. 

We pitched camp in an open flat, gray and red with short grass, andsheltered by towering pines on one side. Under these we set up ourtents. The mat of pine needles was half a foot thick, soft and springyand fragrant. The woods appeared full of slanting rays of goldensunlight. 

This day we had supper over before sunset. Romer showed no effectsfrom his long, hard ride. First he wanted to cook, then he fooledaround the fire, bothering Isbel. I had a hard time to manage him. He wanted to be eternally active. He teased and begged to gohunting--then he compromised on target practice. R. C. And I, however, were too tired, and we preferred to rest beside the camp-fire. 

"Look here, kid, " said R. C. , "save something for to-morrow. "

In disgust Romer replied: "Well, I suppose if a flock of antelope camealong here you wouldn't move. .. . You an' Dad are great hunters, Idon't think!"

After the lad had gone over to the other men R. C. Turned to me andsaid reflectively: "Does he remind you of us when we were little?"

To which I replied with emotion: "In him I live over again!"

That is one of the beautiful things about children, so full of pathosand some strange, stinging joy--they bring back the days that are nomore. 

This evening, despite my fatigue, I was the last one to stay up. Myseat was most comfortable, consisting of thick folds of blanketsagainst a log. How the wind mourned in the trees! How the camp-firesparkled, glowed red and white! Sometimes it seemed full of blazingopals. Always it held faces. And stories--more stories than I can evertell! Once I was stirred and inspired by the beautiful effect of thepine trees in outline against the starry sky when the camp-fireblazed up. The color of the foliage seemed indescribably blue-green, something never seen by day. Every line shone bright, graceful, curved, rounded, and all thrown with sharp relief against the sky. Howmagical, exquisitely delicate and fanciful! The great trunks weresoft serrated brown, and the gnarled branches stood out in perfectproportions. All works of art must be copied of nature. 

Next morning early, while Romer slept, and the men had just begun tostir, I went apart from the camp out into the woods. All seemed solemnand still and cool, with the aisles of the forest brown and green andgold. I heard an owl, perhaps belated in his nocturnal habit. Then tomy surprise I heard wild canaries. They were flying high, and to thesouth, going to their winter quarters. I wandered around among big, gray rocks and windfalls and clumps of young oak and majestic pines. More than one saucy red squirrel chattered at me. 

When I returned to camp my comrades were at breakfast. Romer appearedvastly relieved to see that I had not taken a gun with me. 

This morning we got an early start. We rode for hours through abeautiful shady forest, where a fragrant breeze in our faces maderiding pleasant. Large oaks and patches of sumach appeared on therocky slopes. We descended a good deal in this morning's travel, andthe air grew appreciably warmer. The smell of pine was thick andfragrant; the sound of wind was sweet and soughing. Everywhere pineneedles dropped, shining in the sunlight like thin slants of rain. 

Only once or twice did I see Romer in all these morning hours; then hewas out in front with the cowboy Isbel, riding his black pony overall the logs and washes he could find. I could see his feet stickingstraight out almost even with his saddle. He did not appear to needstirrups. My fears gradually lessened. 

During the afternoon the ride grew hot, and very dusty. We came to along, open valley where the dust lay several inches deep. It had beenan unusually dry summer and fall--a fact that presaged poor luck forour hunting--and the washes and stream-beds were bleached white. Wecame to two water-holes, tanks the Arizonians called them, and theywere vile mud-holes with green scum on the water. The horses drank, but I would have had to be far gone from thirst before I would haveslaked mine there. We faced west with the hot sun beating on us andthe dust rising in clouds. No wonder that ride was interminably long. 

At last we descended a canyon, and decided to camp in a level spotwhere several ravines met, in one of which a tiny stream of dear wateroozed out of the gravel. The inclosure was rocky-sloped, full of cavesand covered with pines; and the best I could say for it was that incase of storm the camp would be well protected. We shoveled out a deephole in the gravel, so that it would fill up with water. Romer hadevidently enjoyed himself this day. When I asked Isbel about him thecowboy's hard face gleamed with a smile: "Shore thet kid's all right. He'll make a cowpuncher!" His remark pleased me. In view of Romer'sdetermination to emulate the worst bandit I ever wrote about I wastremendously glad to think of him as a cowboy. But as for myself I wastired, and the ride had been rather unprofitable, and this camp-site, to say the least, did not inspire me. It was neither wild norbeautiful nor comfortable. I went early to bed and slept like a log. 

The following morning some of our horses were lost. The men huntedfrom daylight till ten o'clock. Then it was that I learned more aboutLee's dog Pups. At ten-thirty Lee came in with the lost horses. Theyhad hidden in a clump of cedars and remained perfectly quiet, as cuteas deer. Lee put Pups on their trail. Pups was a horse-trailing dogand he soon found them. I had a change of feeling for Pups, then andthere. 

[Illustration: THE AUTHOR AND HIS MEN. From left to right: Edd Haught;Nielsen; Haught, the bear hunter; Al Doyle, pioneer Arizona guide;Lewis Pyle; Z. G. ; George Haught; Ben Copple; Lee Doyle. ]

The sun was high and hot when we rode off. The pleasant and dustystretches alternated. About one o'clock we halted on the edge of a deepwooded ravine to take our usual noonday rest. I scouted along the edgein the hope of seeing game of some kind. Presently I heard thecluck-cluck of turkeys. Slipping along to an open place I peered down tobe thrilled by sight of four good-sized turkeys. They were walking alongthe open strip of dry stream-bed at the bottom of the ravine. One waschasing grasshoppers. They were fairly close. I took aim at one, andthought I could have hit him, but suddenly I remembered Romer and R. C. So I slipped back and called them. 

[Illustration: ROMER-BOY ON HIS FAVORITE STEED]

Hurriedly and stealthily we returned to the point where I had seenthe turkeys. Romer had a pale face and wonderfully bright eyes; hisactions resembled those of a stalking Indian. The turkeys were fartherdown, but still in plain sight. I told R. C. To take the boy and slipdown, and run and hide and run till they got close enough for a shot. I would keep to the edge of the ravine. 

Some moments later I saw R. C. And the boy running and stooping andcreeping along the bottom of the ravine. Then I ran myself to reach apoint opposite the turkeys, so in case they flew uphill I might get ashot. But I did not see them, and nothing happened. I lost sight ofthe turkeys. Hurrying back to where I had tied my horse I mounted himand loped ahead and came out upon the ravine some distance above. HereI hunted around for a little while. Once I heard the report of the . 20gauge, and then several rifle shots. Upon returning I found that Leeand Nielsen had wasted some shells. R. C. And Romer came wagging up thehill, both red and wet and tired. R. C. Carried a small turkey, aboutthe size of a chicken. He told me, between pants, that they chased thefour large turkeys, and were just about to get a shot when up jumped ahen-turkey with a flock of young ones. They ran every way. He got one. Then he told me, between more pants and some laughs, that Romerhad chased the little turkeys all over the ravine, almost catchingseveral. Romer said for himself: "I just almost pulled feathers out oftheir tails. Gee! if I'd had a gun!"

We resumed our journey. About the middle of the afternoon Doyle calledmy attention to an opening in the forest through which I could see theyellow-walled rim of the mesa, and the great blue void below. Arizona!That explained the black forests, the red and yellow cliffs of rock, the gray cedars, the heights and depths. 

Lop? ride indeed was it down off the mesa. The road was winding, roughfull of loose rocks and dusty. We were all tired out trying to keep upwith the wagon. Romer, however, averred time and again that he wasnot tired. Still I saw him often shift his seat from one side of thesaddle to the other. 

At last we descended to a comparative level and came to a littlehamlet. Like all Mormon villages it had quaint log cabins, low stonehouses, an irrigation ditch running at the side of the road, orchards, and many rosy-cheeked children. We lingered there long enough to resta little and drink our fill of the cold granite water. I would travelout of my way to get a drink of water that came from granite rock. 

About five o'clock we left for the Natural Bridge. Romer invited orrather taunted me to a race. When it ended in his victory I foundthat I had jolted my rifle out of its saddle sheath. I went back somedistance to look for it, but did so in vain. Isbel said he would rideback in the morning and find it. 

The country here appeared to be on a vast scale. But that was onlybecause we had gotten out where we could see all around. Arizona isall on a grand, vast scale. Mountain ranges stood up to the south andeast. North loomed up the lofty, steep rim of the Mogollon Mesa, withits cliffs of yellow and red, and its black line of timber. Westwardlay fold on fold of low cedar-covered hills. The valley appeared akind of magnificent bowl, rough and wild, with the distance lostin blue haze. The vegetation was dense and rather low. I saw bothprickly-pear and mescal cactus, cedars, manzanita brush, scrub oak, and juniper trees. These last named were very beautiful, especiallythe smaller ones, with their gray-green foliage, and purple berries, and black and white checkered bark. There were no pine trees. Since wehad left the rim above the character of plant life had changed. 

We crossed the plateau leading to the valley where the Natural Bridgewas located. A winding road descended the east side of this valley. A rancher lived down there. Green of alfalfa and orchard and walnuttrees contrasted vividly with a bare, gray slope on one side, and ared, rugged mountain on the other. A deep gorge showed dark and wild. At length, just after sunset, we reached the ranch, and rode throughorchards of peach and pear and apple trees, all colored with fruit, and down through grassy meadows to a walnut grove where we pitchedcamp. By the time we had supper it was dark. Wonderful stars, thick, dreamy hum of insects, murmur of swift water, a rosy and goldenafterglow on the notch of the mountain range to the west--these wereinducements to stay up, but I was so tired I had to go to bed, wheremy eyelids fell tight, as if pleasantly weighted. 

After the long, hard rides and the barren camp-sites what delight toawaken in this beautiful valley with the morning cool and breezy andbright, with smell of new-mown hay from the green and purple alfalfafields, and the sunlight gilding the jagged crags above! Romer made abee-line for the peach trees. He beat his daddy only a few yards. Thekind rancher had visited us the night before and he had told us tohelp ourselves to fruit, melons, alfalfa. Needless to state that Imade my breakfast on peaches!

I trailed the swift, murmuring stream to its source on the dark greenslope where there opened up a big hole bordered by water-cress, longgrass, and fragrant mint. This spring was one of perfectly clearwater, six feet deep, boiling up to bulge on the surface. A grass ofdark color and bunches of light green plant grew under the surface. Bees and blue dragon-flies hummed around and frogs as green as thegrass blinked with jewelled eyes from the wet margins. The spring hada large volume that spilled over its borders with low, hollow gurgle, with fresh, cool splash. The water was soft, tasting of limestone. Here was the secret of the verdure and fragrance and color and beautyand life of the oasis. 

It was also the secret of the formation of the wonderful NaturalBridge. Part of the rancher's cultivated land, to the extent ofseveral acres, was the level top of this strange bridge. A meadow ofalfalfa and a fine vineyard, in the air, like the hanging gardens ofBabylon! The natural bridge spanned a deep gorge, at the bottom ofwhich flowed a swift stream of water. Geologically this tremendousarch of limestone cannot be so very old. In comparatively recent timesan earthquake or some seismic disturbance or some other natural forcecaused a spring of water to burst from the slope above the gorge. Itran down, of course, over the rim. The lime salt in the water wasdeposited, and year by year and age by age advanced toward theopposite side until a bridge crossed the gorge. The swift stream atthe bottom kept the opening clear under the bridge. 

A winding trail led deep down on the lower side of this wonderfulnatural span. It showed the cliffs of limestone, porous, craggy, broken, chalky. At the bottom the gorge was full of tremendousboulders, water-worn ledges, sycamore and juniper trees, red andyellow flowers, and dark, beautiful green pools. I espied tiny grayfrogs, reminding me of those I found in the gulches of the GrandCanyon. Many huge black beetles, some alive, but most of them dead, lined the wet borders of the pools. A species of fish that resembledmullet lay in the shadow of the rocks. 

From underneath the Natural Bridge showed to advantage, and if notmagnificent like the grand Nonnezoshe of Utah, it was at leaststriking and beautiful. It had a rounded ceiling colored gray, yellow, green, bronze, purple, white, making a crude and scalloped mosaic. Water dripped from it like a rain of heavy scattered drops. The leftside was dryest and large, dark caves opened up, one above the other, the upper being so high that it was dangerous to attempt reaching it. The right side was slippery and wet. All rocks were thickly encrustedwith lime salt. Doyle told us that any object left under the ceaselessdrip, drip of the lime water would soon become encrusted, and heavy asstone. The upper opening of the arch was much higher and smaller thanthe lower. Any noise gave forth strange and sepulchral echoes. Romercertainly made the welkin ring. A streak of sunlight shone through asmall hole in the thinnest part of the roof. Doyle pointed out thehigh cave where Indians had once lived, showing the markings of theirfire. Also he told a story of Apaches being driven into the highestcave from which they had never escaped. This tale was manifestly toRomer's liking and I had to use force to keep him from risking hisneck. A very strong breeze blew under the arch. When we rolled aboulder into the large, dark pool it gave forth a hollow boom, boom, boom, growing hollower the deeper it went. I tried to interest Romerin some bat nests in crevices high up, but the boy wanted to rollstones and fish for the mullet. When we climbed out and were once moreon a level I asked him what he thought of the place. "Some hole--I'llsay!" he panted, breathlessly. 

The rancher told me that the summer rains began there about July, andthe snows about the first of the year. Snow never lay long on thelower slopes. Apaches had lived there forty years ago and hadcultivated the soil. There was gold in the mountains of the Four PeaksRange. In this sheltered nook the weather was never severely cold orhot; and I judged from the quaint talk of the rancher's wife that lifethere was always afternoon. 

Next day we rode from Natural Bridge to Payson in four and a halfhours. Payson appeared to be an old hamlet, retaining many frontiercharacteristics such as old board and stone houses with high fronts, hitching posts and pumps on sidewalks, and one street so wide that itresembled a Mexican plaza. Payson contained two stores, where I hopedto buy a rifle, and hoped in vain. I had not recovered my lost gun, and when night came my prospects of anything to hunt with appearedextremely slim. But we had visitors, and one of them was a stalwart, dark-skinned rider named Copple, who introduced himself by saying hewould have come a good way to meet the writer of certain books he hadprofited by. When he learned of the loss of my rifle and that I couldnot purchase one anywhere he pressed upon me his own. I refused withthanks, but he would not take no. The upshot of it was that he lentme his . 30 Government Winchester, and gave me several boxes ofammunition. Also he presented me with a cowhide lasso. WhereuponRomer-boy took a shine to Copple at once. "Say, you look like anIndian, " he declared. With a laugh Copple replied: "I am part Indian, sonny. " Manifestly that settled his status with Romer, for he pipedup: "So's Dad part Indian. You'd better come huntin' with us. "

We had for next day to look forward to the longest and hardest ride ofthe journey in, and in order to make it and reach a good camping siteI got up at three o'clock in the morning to rout everybody out. Itwas pitch dark until we kindled fires. Then everybody rustled to suchpurpose that we were ready to start before dawn, and had to wait alittle for light enough to see where we were going. This proceduretickled Romer immensely. I believed he imagined he was in a pioneercaravan. The gray breaking of dawn, the coming of brighter light, therose and silver of the rising sun, and the riding in its face, withthe air so tangy and nipping, were circumstances that inspired me asthe adventurous start pleased Romer. The brush and cactus-lined roadwas rough, up hill and down, with ever increasing indications thatit was seldom used. From the tops of high points I could see blackfoothills, round, cone-shaped, flat-topped, all leading the gazetoward the great yellow and red wall of the mesa, with its fringedborderline, wild and beckoning. 

We walked our horses, trotted, loped, and repeated the order, overand over, hour by hour, mile after mile, under a sun that burnedour faces and through choking dust. The washes and stream-beds werebleached and dry; the brush was sear and yellow and dust laden; themescal stalks seemed withered by hot blasts. Only the manzanita lookedfresh. That smooth red-branched and glistening green-leafed plantof the desert apparently flourished without rain. On all sides theevidences of extreme drought proved the year to be the dreaded _annoseco_ of the Mexicans. 

For ten hours we rode without a halt before there was any prominentchange in the weary up- and down-hill going, in the heat and dust andbrush-walled road. But about the middle of the afternoon we reachedthe summit of the longest hill, from which we saw ahead of us a cut upcountry, wild and rugged and beautiful, with pine-sloped canyon at ourfeet. We heard the faint murmur of running water. Hot, dusty, wet withsweat, and thirsty as sheep, we piled down that steep slope as fastas we dared. Our horses did not need urging. At the bottom we plungedinto a swift stream of clear, cold water--granite water--to drink ofwhich, and to bathe hot heads and burning feet, was a joy only knownto the weary traveler of the desert. Romer yelled that the water waslike that at our home in the mountains of Pennsylvania, and he dranktill I thought he would burst, and then I had to hold him to keep himfrom wallowing in it. 

Here we entered a pine forest. Heat and dust stayed with us, and theaches and pains likewise, but the worst of them lay behind. Every milegrew shadier, clearer, cooler. 

Nielsen happened to fall in and ride beside me for several miles, as was often his wont. The drink of water stirred him to an Homericrecital of one of his desert trips in Sonora, at the end of which, almost dead of thirst, he had suddenly come upon such a stream as theone we had just passed. Then he told me about his trips down the westcoast of Sonora, along the Gulf, where he traveled at night, at lowtide, so that by daytime his footprints would be washed out. Thiswas the land of the Seri Indians. Undoubtedly these Indians werecannibals. I had read considerable about them, much of which ridiculedthe rumors of their cannibalistic traits. This of course had been ofexceeding interest to me, because some day I meant to go to the landof the Seris. But not until 1918 did I get really authentic dataconcerning them. Professor Bailey of the University of California toldme he had years before made two trips to the Gulf, and found the Seristo be the lowest order of savages he knew of. He was positive thatunder favorable circumstances they would practice cannibalism. Nielsenmade four trips down there. He claimed the Seris were an ugly tribe. In winter they lived on Tiburon Island, off which boats anchored onoccasions, and crews and fishermen and adventurers went ashore tobarter with the Indians. These travelers did not see the worst of theSeris. In summer they range up the mainland, and they go naked. Theydo not want gold discovered down there. They will fight prospectors. They use arrows and attack at dawn. Also they poison the water-holes. 

Nielsen told of some men who were massacred by Seris on the mainlandopposite Tiburon Island. One man, who had gone away from camp, returned to hear the attack upon his companions. He escaped and madehis way to Gyamus. Procuring assistance this man returned to the sceneof the massacre, only to find stakes in the sand, with deep trailstramped around them, and blackened remains of fires, and boneseverywhere. Nielsen went on to say that once from a hiding place hehad watched Seris tear up and devour a dead turtle that he afterwardascertained was putrid. He said these Seris were the greatest runnersof all desert savages. The best of them could outrun a horse. OneSeri, a giant seven feet tall, could outrun a deer and break its neckwith his hands. 

These statements of Nielsen's were remarkable, and personally Ibelieved them. Men of his stamp were honest and they had opportunitiesto learn strange and terrible facts in nature. The great naturalistDarwin made rather stronger claims for the barbarism of the savages ofTerra del Fuego. Nielsen, pursuing his theme, told me how he hadseen, with his own eyes--and they were certainly sharp andintelligent--Yaqui Indians leap on the bare backs of wild horsesand locking their legs, stick there in spite of the mad plunges andpitches. The Gauchos of the Patagonian Pampas were famous for thatfeat of horsemanship. I asked Joe Isbel what he thought of suchriding. And he said: "Wal, I can ride a wild steer bare-back, but excoose me from tacklin' a buckin' bronch without saddle an'stirrups. " This coming from the acknowledged champion horseman of thesouthwest was assuredly significant. 

At five o'clock we came to the end of the road. It led to a forestglade, overlooking the stream we had followed, and that was as far asour wagon could go. The glade shone red with sumach, and surroundedby tall pines, with a rocky and shady glen below, it appeared adelightful place to camp. As I was about to unsaddle my horses I heardthe cluck-cluck of turkeys. Pulling out my borrowed rifle, and callingRomer, I ran to the edge of the glade. The shady, swift stream ranfifty feet or so below me. Across it I saw into the woods where shadeand gray rocks and colored brush mingled. Again I heard the turkeyscluck. "Look hard, son, " I whispered. "They're close. " R. C. Cameslipping along below us, with his rifle ready. Suddenly Romerstiffened, then pointed. "There! Dad!--There!" I saw two gobblers wadeinto the brook not more than a hundred and fifty feet away. Drawingdown with fine aim I fired. The bullet splashed water all over theturkeys. One with loud whirr of wings flew away. The other leapedacross the brook and ran--swift as a deer--right up the slope. AsI tried to get the sight on him I heard other turkeys fly, and thecrack-crack of R. C. 's gun. I shot twice at my running turkey, and allI did was to scatter the dirt over him, and make him run faster. R. C. Had not done any better shooting. Romer, wonderful to relate, was soexcited that he forgot to make fun of our marksmanship. We scoutedaround some, but the turkeys had gone. By promising to take Romerhunting after supper I contrived to get him back to the glade, wherewe made camp. 

II

After we had unpacked and while the men were pitching the tents andgetting supper I took Romer on a hunt up the creek. I was considerablypleased to see good-sized trout in the deeper pools. A little wayabove camp the creek forked. As the right-hand branch appeared to belarger and more attractive we followed its course. Soon the bustleof camp life and the sound of the horses were left far behind. Romerslipped along beside me stealthily as an Indian, all eyes and ears. 

We had not traveled thus for a quarter of a mile when my quick earcaught the cluck-cluck of turkeys. "Listen, " I whispered, halting. Romer became like a statue, his dark eyes dilating, his nostrilsquivering, his whole body strung. He was a Zane all right. A turkeycalled again; then another answered. Romer started, and nodded hishead vehemently. 

"Come on now, right behind me, " I whispered. "Step where I step and dowhat I do. Don't break any twigs. "

Cautiously we glided up the creek, listening now and then to get thedirection, until we came to an open place where we could see somedistance up a ridge. The turkey clucks came from across the creeksomewhere up this open aisle of the forest. I crawled ahead severalrods to a more advantageous point, much pleased to note that Romerkept noiselessly at my heels. Then from behind a stone we peeped out. Almost at once a turkey flew down from a tree into the open lane. "Look Dad!" whispered Romer, wildly. I had to hold him down. "That's ahen turkey, " I said. "See, it's small and dull-colored. The gobblersare big, shiny, and they have red on their heads. "

Another hen turkey flew down from a rather low height. Then I made outgrapevines, and I saw several animated dark patches among them. As Ilooked three turkeys flopped down to the ground. One was a gobbler ofconsiderable size, with beautiful white and bronze feathers. Rathersuspiciously he looked down our way. The distance was not more than ahundred yards. I aimed at him, feeling as I did so how Romer quiveredbeside me, but I had no confidence in Copple's rifle. The sights werewrong for me. The stock did not fit me. So, hoping for a closer andbetter shot, I let this opportunity pass. Of course I should havetaken it. The gobbler clucked and began to trot up the ridge, with theothers after him. They were not frightened, but they appeared rathersuspicious. When they disappeared in the woods Romer and I got up, andhurried in pursuit. "Gee! why didn't you peg that gobbler?" broke outRomer, breathlessly. "Wasn't he a peach?"

When we reached the top of the ridge we advanced very cautiouslyagain. Another open place led to a steep, rocky hillside with cedarsand pines growing somewhat separated. I was disappointed in not seeingthe turkeys. Then in our anxiety and eagerness we hurried on, notnoiselessly by any means. All of a sudden there was a rustle, and thena great whirr of wings. Three turkeys flew like grouse away into thewoods. Next I saw the white gobbler running up the rocky hillside. Atfirst he was in the open. Aiming as best I could I waited for him tostop or hesitate. But he did neither. "Peg him, Dad!" yelled Romer. The lad was right. My best chance I had again forfeited. To hit arunning wild turkey with a rifle bullet was a feat I had not doneso often as to inspire conceit. The gobbler was wise, too. For thatmatter all grown gobblers are as wise as old bucks, except in thespring mating season, when it is a crime to hunt them. This one, justas I got a bead on him, always ran behind a rock or tree or shrub. Finally in desperation I took a snap shot at him, hitting under him, making him jump. Then in rapid succession I fired four more times. Ihad the satisfaction of seeing where my bullets struck up the dust, even though they did go wide of the mark. After my last shot thegobbler disappeared. 

"Well, Dad, you sure throwed the dirt over him!" declared Romer. 

"Son, I don't believe I could hit a flock of barns with this gun, " Ireplied, gazing doubtfully at the old, shiny, wire-wrapped, worn-outWinchester Copple had lent me. I had been told that he was a finemarksman and could drive a nail with it. Upon my return to camp Itried out the rifle, carefully, with a rest, to find that it was notaccurate. Moreover it did not throw the bullets consistently. It shothigh, wide, low; and right there I abandoned any further use for it. R. C. Tried to make me take his rifle to use on the hunting trip;Nielsen and Lee wanted me to take theirs, but I was disgusted withmyself and refused. "Thanks, boys, " I said. "Maybe this will be alesson to me. "

We had been up since three o'clock that morning, and the day's travelhad been exhausting. I had just enough energy left to scrape up ahuge, soft pile of pine needles upon which to make our bed. Afterthat all was oblivion until I was awakened by the ringing strokes ofNielsen's axe. 

The morning, after the sun got up, was exceedingly delightful. And this camp was such a contrast to the others, so pleasant andattractive, that even if we had not arranged to meet Lee Haught andhis sons here I would have stayed a while anyway. Haught was a famedbear hunter who lived in a log-cabin somewhere up under the rim of themesa. While Lee and Nielsen rode off up the trail to find Haught Igave Romer his first try at rainbow trout. The water of the creek waslow and clear, so that we could see plenty of good-sized trout. Butthey were shy. They would not rise readily to any of our flies, thoughI got several strikes. We searched under the stones for worms andsecured a few. Whereupon Romer threw a baited hook to a trout weplainly saw. The trout gobbled it. Romer had been instructed in thefine art of angling, but whenever he got a bite he always forgotscience. He yanked this ten-inch rainbow right out. Then in anotherpool he hooked a big fellow that had ideas of his own as well asweight and strength. Romer applied the same strenuous tactics. Butthis trout nearly pulled Romer off the rock before the line broke. Itook occasion then to deliver to the lad a lecture. In reply he saidtearfully: "I didn't know he was so--so big. "

When we returned to camp, Haught and his sons were there. Even at adistance their horses, weapons, and persons satisfied my criticaleye. Lee Haught was a tall, spare, superbly built man, with squareshoulders. He had a brown face with deep lines and sunken cheeks, keenhazel eyes, heavy dark mustache, and hair streaked a little with gray. The only striking features of his apparel were his black sombrero andlong spurs. 

His sons, Edd and George, were young, lean, sallow, still-faced, lanky-legged horsemen with clear gray eyes. They did not appear to begiven, to much speech. Both were then waiting for the call of the armydraft. Looking at them then, feeling the tranquil reserve and latentforce of these Arizonians, I reflected that the Germans had failedin their psychology of American character. A few hundred thousandAmericans like the Haught boys would have whipped the German army. 

We held a council. Haught said he would send his son Edd with Doyle, and by a long roundabout forest road get the wagon up on the mesa. With his burros and some of our horses packed we could take part ofthe outfit up the creek trail, past his cabin, and climb out on therim, where we would find grass, water, wood, and plenty of game. 

The idea of permanent camp before sunset that very day inspired us tounited and vigorous effort. By noon we had the pack train ready. Eddand Doyle climbed on the wagon to start the other way. Romer waved hishand: "Good-bye, Mr. Doyle, don't break down and lose the apples!"

Then we were off, up the narrow trail along the creek. Haught led theway. Romer attached himself to the bear-hunter, and wherever the trailwas wide enough rode beside him. R. C. And I followed. The other menfell in behind the pack train. 

The ride was hot, and for the most part all up hill. That basin couldbe likened to the ribs of a washboard: it was all hills, gorges, ridges and ravines. The hollows of this exceedingly rough country werethick with pine and oak, the ridges covered with cedar, juniper, andmanzanita. The ground, where it was not rocky, was a dry, red clay. Wepassed Haught's log cabin and clearing of a few acres, where I saw fathogs and cattle. Beyond this point the trail grew more zigzag, andsteeper, and shadier. As we got higher up the air grew cooler. I noteda change in the timber. The trees grew larger, and other varietiesappeared. We crossed a roaring brook lined by thick, green brush, verypleasant to the eye, and bronze-gold ferns that were beautiful. Wepassed oaks all green and yellow, and maple trees, wonderfully coloredred and cerise. Then still higher up I espied some silver spruces, most exquisite trees of the mountain forests. 

During the latter half of the climb up to the rim I had to attend tothe business of riding and walking. The trail was rough, steep, andlong. Once Haught called my attention to a flat stone with a plaintrail made by a turtle in ages past when that sandstone was wet, sedimentary deposit. By and bye we reached the last slopes up to themesa, green, with yellow crags and cliffs, and here and there blazingmaples to remind me again that autumn was at hand. 

At last we surmounted the rim, from which I saw a scene that defiedwords. It was different from any I had seen before. Black timber asfar as eye could see! Then I saw a vast bowl inclosed by dim mountainranges, with a rolling floor of forested ridges, and dark lines I knewto be canyons. For wild, rugged beauty I had not seen its equal. 

[Illustration: THE TONTO BASIN]

When the pack train reached the rim we rode on, and now through amagnificent forest at eight thousand feet altitude. Big white and blackclouds obscured the sun. A thunder shower caught us. There was hail, andthe dry smell of dust, and a little cold rain. Romer would not put onhis slicker. Haught said the drought had been the worst he had seen intwenty years there. Up in this odorous forestland I could not see wherethere had been lack of rain. The forest appeared thick, grassy, gold andyellow and green and brown. Thickets and swales of oaks and aspens weregorgeous in their autumn hues. The silver spruces sent down long, graceful branches that had to be brushed aside or stooped under as werode along. Big gray squirrels with white tails and tufted ears ran uptrees to perch on limbs and watch us go by; and other squirrels, muchsmaller and darker gray, frisked and chattered and scolded at a greatrate. 

[Illustration: LISTENING FOR THE HOUNDS]

We passed little depressions that ran down into ravines, and these, Haught informed me, were the heads of canyons that sloped away fromthe rim, deepening and widening for miles. The rim of the mesa wasits highest point, except here and there a few elevations like BlackButte. Geologically this mesa was an enormous fault, like the northrim of the Grand Canyon. During the formation of the earth, or thehardening of the crust, there had been a crack or slip, so that oneedge of the crust stood up sheer above the other. We passed the headsof Leonard Canyon, Gentry, and Turkey Canyons, and at last, neartime of sunset, headed down into beautifully colored, pine-sloped, aspen-thicketed Beaver Dam Canyon. 

A mile from the rim we were deep in the canyon, walled in byrock-strewn and pine-timbered slopes too steep for a horse to climb. There was a little gully on the black soil where there were noevidences of recent water. Haught said he had never seen Beaver DamCreek dry until this season. We traveled on until we came to a wide, open space, where three forks of this canyon met, and where in themiddle of this glade there rose a lengthy wooded bench, shaded andbeautified by stately pines and silver spruce. At this point waterappeared in the creek bed, flowing in tiny stream that soon gatheredvolume. Cold and clear and pure it was all that was needed to makethis spot an ideal camp site. Haught said half a mile below there wasa grassy park where the horses would graze with elk. 

We pitched our tents on this bench, and I chose for my location aspace between two great monarchs of the forests, that had surelyshaded many an Indian encampment. At the upper end of the bench rose aknoll, golden and green with scrub oaks, and russet-colored with itslichened rocks. About all we could manage that evening was to eat andgo to bed. 

Morning broke cool and bright, with heavy dew. I got my boots as wetas if I had waded in water. This surprised me, occurring on Octobersixth, and at eight thousand feet altitude, as I had expected frost. Most of this day was spent in making camp, unpacking, and attending tothe many necessary little details that make for comfort in the open. To be sure Romer worked very spasmodically. He spent most of his timeon the back of one of Haught's burros, chasing and roping another. Ihad not remembered seeing the lad so happily occupied. 

Late in the afternoon I slipped off down the canyon alone, takingHaught's rifle for safety rather than a desire to kill anything. Byno means was it impossible to meet a bad bear in that forest. Somedistance below camp I entered a ravine and climbed up to the level, and soon found myself deep in the fragrant, colorful, wild forest. Like coming home again was it to enter that forest of silver-tipped, level-spreading spruce, and great, gnarled, massive pines, andoak-patches of green and gold, and maple thickets, with shining aspensstanding white against the blaze of red and purple. High, wavy, bleached grass, brown mats of pine needles, gray-green moss wavingfrom the spruces, long strands of sunlight--all these seemed towelcome me. 

At a distance there was a roar of wind through the forest; close athand only a soft breeze. Rustling of twigs caused me to compose myselfto listen and watch. Soon small gray squirrels came into view allaround me, bright-eyed and saucy, very curious about this intruder. They began to chatter. Other squirrels were working in the tops oftrees, for I heard the fall of pine cones. Then came the screech ofblue jays. Soon they too discovered me. The male birds were superb, dignified, beautiful. The color was light blue all over with dark bluehead and tufted crest. By and bye they ceased to scold me, and I wasleft to listen to the wind, and to the tiny patter of dropping seedsand needles from the spruces. What cool, sweet, fresh smell thiswoody, leafy, earthy, dry, grassy, odorous fragrance, dominated byscent of pine! How lonesome and restful! I felt a sense of deep peaceand rest. This golden-green forest, barred with sunlight, canopied bythe blue sky, and melodious with its soughing moan of wind, absolutelyfilled me with content and happiness. If a stag or a bear had trottedout into my sight, and had showed me no animosity, not improbably Iwould have forgotten my gun. More and more as I lived in the open Igrew reluctant to kill. 

Presently a porcupine waddled along some rods away, and unaware of mypresence it passed by and climbed a spruce. I saw it climb high andfinally lost sight of it. In searching up and down this spruce I grewalive to what a splendid and beautiful tree it was. Where so manytrees grew it always seemed difficult to single out one and studyit. This silver spruce was five feet through at the base, rugged, gray-seamed, thick all the way to its lofty height. Its brancheswere small, with a singular feature that they were uniform in shape, length, and droop. Most all spruce branches drooped toward the ground. That explained why they made such excellent shelters from rain. Aftera hard storm I had seen the ground dry under a thick-foliaged spruce. Many a time had I made a bed under one. Elk and deer stand undera spruce during a rain, unless there is thunder and lightning. Inforests of high altitude, where lightning strikes many trees, I havenever found or heard of elk and deer being killed. This particularspruce was a natural tent in the forest. The thick-spreading gracefulsilver plumes extended clear to the top, where they were bushiest, and rounded out, with all the largest branches there. Each dark graybranch was fringed and festooned with pale green moss, like thecypresses of the South. 

Suddenly I heard a sharp snapping of twigs and then stealthy, lightsteps. An animal of some species was moving in the thicket nearby. Naturally I sustained a thrill, and bethought me of the rifle. Then Ipeered keenly into the red rose shadows of the thicket. The sun wassetting now, and though there appeared a clear golden light highin the forest, along the ground there were shadows. I heard leavesfalling, rustling. Tall white aspens stood out of the thicket, and twoof the large ones bore the old black scars of bear claws. I was sure, however, that no bear hid in the thicket at this moment. Presentlywhatever the animal was it pattered lightly away on the far side. After that I watched the quiver of the aspen leaves. Some were green, some yellow, some gold, but they all had the same wonderful tremor, the silent fluttering that gave them the most exquisite action innature. The sun set, the forest darkened, reminding me of supper time. So I returned to camp. As I entered the open canyon Romer-boy espiedme--manifestly he had been watching--and he yelled: "Here comes myDaddy now!. .. Say, Dad, did you get any pegs?"

Next morning Haught asked me if I would like to ride around throughthe woods and probably get a shot at a deer. Romer coaxed so to gothat I finally consented. 

We rode down the canyon, and presently came to a wide grassy parkinclosed by high green-clad slopes, the features of which appeared tobe that the timber on the west slope was mostly pine, and on the eastslope it was mostly spruce. I could arrive at no certain reason forthis, but I thought it must be owing to the snow lying somewhat longeron the east slope. The stream here was running with quite a littlevolume of water. Our horses were grazing in this park. I saw freshelk tracks made the day before. Elk were quite abundant through thisforest, Haught informed me, and were protected by law. 

A couple of miles down this trail the canyon narrowed, losing itspark-like dimensions. The farther we traveled the more water therewas in the stream, and more elk, deer, and turkey tracks in thesand. Every half mile or so we would come to the mouth of a smallintersecting canyon, and at length we rode up one of these, presentlyto climb out on top. At this distance from the rim the forest was moreopen than in the vicinity of our camp, affording better riding andhunting. Still the thickets of aspen and young pine were so frequentthat seldom could I see ahead more than several hundred yards. 

Haught led the way, I rode next and Romer kept beside me where it waspossible to do so. There was, however, no trail. How difficult to keepthe lad quiet! I expected of course that Haught would dismount, andtake me to hunt on foot. After a while I gathered he did not hunt deerexcept on horseback. He explained that cowboys rounded up cattle inthis forest in the spring and fall, and deer were not frightened atsound or sight of a horse. Some of the thrill and interest in theforest subsided for me. I did not like to hunt in a country wherecattle ranged, no matter how wild they were. Then when we came to aforested ridge bare of grass and smelling of sheep, that robbed theforest of a little more glamour. Mexican sheep-herders drove theirflocks up this far sometimes. Haught said bear, lion, lynx, andcoyote, sometimes the big gray wolves, followed the sheep. Deer, however, hated a sheep-run range. 

Riding was exceedingly pleasant. The forest was shady, cool, full ofsunlight and beauty. Nothing but fire or the lumbermen could ever robit of its beauty, silence, fragrance, and of its temple-like majesty. So provided we did not meet any cattle or sheep I did not care whetheror not we sighted any game. In fact I would have forgotten we werehunting had not Romer been along. With him continually seeing thingsit was difficult to keep from imagining that we were hunting Indians. The Apaches had once lived in this country Haught informed us; and itwas a habit of theirs to burn the grass and fallen leaves over everyfall, thus keeping down the underbrush. In this the Indians showed hownear-sighted they were; the future growth of a forest did not concernthem. Usually Indians were better conservationists than white men. 

We rode across a grove of widely separated, stately pines, at the farend of which stood a thicket of young pines and other brush. As weneared this Haught suddenly reined in, and in quick and noiselessaction he dismounted. Then he jerked his rifle from his saddle-sheath, took a couple of forward steps, and leveled it. I was so struck withthe rugged and significant picture he made that I did not dismount, and did not see any game until after he fired. Then as I tumbled offand got out my rifle I heard Romer gasping and crying out. A graystreak with a bobbing white end flashed away out of sight to the left. Next I saw a deer bounding through the thicket. Haught fired again. The deer ran so fast that I could not get my sights anywhere near him. Haught thudded through an opening, and an instant later, when both heand the deer had disappeared, he shot the third time. Presently hereturned. 

"Never could shoot with them open sights nohow, " he said. "Shore Imissed thet yearlin' buck when he was standin'. Why didn't you smokehim up?"

"Dad, why didn't you peg him?" asked Romer, with intense regret. "Why, I could have knocked him. "

Then it was incumbent upon me to confess that the action had appearedto be a little swift. "Wal, " said Haught, "when you see one you wantto pile off quick. "

As we rode on Romer naively asked me if ever in my life I had seenanything run so fast as that deer. We entered another big grove withthin patches of thicket here and there. Haught said these were goodplaces for deer to lie down, relying on their noses to scent dangerfrom windward, and on their eyes in the other direction. We circled togo round thickets, descending somewhat into a swale. Here Haught gotoff a little to the right. Romer and I rode up a gentle slope towarda thin line of little pines, through which I could see into the pinesbeyond. Suddenly up jumped three big gray bucks. Literally I fell offmy horse, bounced up, and pulled out my rifle. One buck was loping ina thicket. I could see his broad, gray body behind the slender trees. I aimed--followed him--got a bead on him--and was just about to pulltrigger when he vanished. Plunging forward I yelled to Haught. ThenRomer cried in his shrill treble: "Dad, here's a big buck--hurry!"Turning I ran back. In wild excitement Romer was pointing. I was justin time to see a gray rump disappear in the green. Just then Haughtshot, and after that he halloed. Romer and I went through the thicket, working to our left, and presently came out into the open forest. Haught was leading his horse. To Romer's eager query he replied:"Shore, I piled him up. Two-year-old black-tail buck. "

Sure enough he had shot straight this time. The buck lay motionlessunder a pine, with one point of his antlers imbedded deep in theground. A sleek, gray, graceful deer he was just beginning to get hiswinter coat. His color was indeed a bluish gray. Haught hung him upto a branch, spread his hind legs, and cut him down the middle. Thehunter's dexterity with a knife made me wonder how many deer he haddressed in his life in the open. We lifted the deer upon the saddle ofHaught's horse and securely tied it there with a lasso; then with thehunter on foot, leading the way, we rode through the forest up themain ridge between Beaver and Turkey Canyons. Toward the rim I foundthe pines and spruces larger, and the thickets of aspen denser. Wepassed the heads of many ravines running down to the canyons on eitherside, and these were blazing gold and red in color, and so thick Icould not see a rod into them. About the middle of the afternoon wereached camp. With venison hanging up to cool we felt somewhat likereal hunters. R. C. Had gone off to look for turkeys, which enterprisehad been unsuccessful. 

Upon the following day, which was October tenth, we started our bearhunting. Haught's method appeared to me to lack something. He sent thehounds down below the rim with George; and taking R. C. And me, and Leeand Nielsen, he led us over to what he called Horton Thicket. Neverwould I forget my first sight of that immense forest-choked canyon. It was a great cove running up from the basin into the rim. Craggyledges, broken, ruined, tottering and gray, slanted down into thisabyss. The place was so vast that these ledges appeared far apart, yetthey were many. An empire of splintered cliff!

High up these cracked and stained walls were covered with lichens, with little spruces growing in niches, and tiny yellow bushes. Pointsof crumbling rock were stained gold and russet and bronze. Below thehuge gorge was full of aspens, maples, spruces--a green, crimson, yellow density of timber, apparently impenetrable. We were accordeddifferent stations on the ledges all around the cove, and instructedto stay there until called by four blasts from a hunting horn. Mypoint was so far from R. C. 's, across the canyon, that I had to use myfield-glass to see him. When I did look he seemed contented. Lee andNielsen and Haught I could not see at all. Finding a comfortable seat, if hard rock could ever be that, I proceeded to accept my wait fordevelopments. One thing was sure--even though it were a futile way tohunt it seemed rich in other recompense for me. My stand towered abovea vast colorful slope down which the wind roared as in a gale. Howcould I ever hear the hounds? I watched the storm-clouds scuddingacross the sky. Once I saw a rare bird, a black eagle in magnificentflight; and so whatever happened I had my reward in that sight. 

Nothing happened. For hours and hours I sat there, with frequentintermissions away from my hard, rocky seat. Toward the close ofafternoon, when the wind began to get cold, I saw that R. C. Had lefthis stand. He had undoubtedly gone back to camp, which was some milesnearer his stand than mine. At last I gave up any hope of hearingeither the hounds or the horn, as the roar of wind had increased. OnceI thought I heard a distant rifle shot. So I got on my horse and setout to find camp. I was on a promontory, the sides of which wereindented by long ravines that were impassable except near their heads. In fact I had been told there was only one narrow space where it waspossible to get off this promontory. Lucky indeed that I rememberedHaught telling of this! Anyway I soon found myself lost in a maze offorested heads of ravines. Finally I went back to the rim on thewest side, and then working along I found our horse-tracks. These Ifollowed, with difficulty, and after an hour's travel I crossed thenarrow neck of the promontory, and back-tracked myself to camp, arriving there at sunset. 

The Haughts had put up two bear. One bear had worked around under oneof the great promontories. The hounds had gotten on his back-trail, staying on it until it grew cold, then had left it. Their baying hadroused the bear out of his bed, and he had showed himself once ortwice on the open rock-slides. Haught saw the other bear from the rim. This was a big, red, cinnamon bear asleep under a pine tree on an openslope. Haught said when the hounds gave tongue on the other trail thisred bear awakened, sat up, and wagged his head slowly. He had neverbeen chased by hounds. He lay down in his piny bed again. The distancewas too great for an accurate shot, but Haught tried anyway, with theresult that he at least scared the cinnamon off. 

These bear were both thin. As they were not the sheep-killing andcow-killing kind their food consisted mainly of mast (acorns) andberries. But this season there were no berries at all, and very fewacorns. So the bears were not fat. When a bear was thin he couldalways outrun the hounds; if he was fat he would get hot and tiredenough to climb a tree or mad enough to stop and fight the dogs. 

Haught told me there were a good many mountain lions and lynx underthe rim. They lived on elk, deer, and turkey. The lynx were thetuft-eared, short-tailed species. They would attack and kill acow-elk. In winter on the rim the snow sometimes fell fifteen feetdeep, so that the game wintered underneath. Snow did not lay long onthe sunny, open ridges of the basin. 

That night a storm-wind roared mightily in the pines. How wonderful tolie snug in bed, down in the protected canyon, and hear the marchingand retreating gale above in the forest! Next day we expected rain orsnow. But there was only wind, and that quieted by afternoon. So Itook Romer off into the woods. He carried his rifle and he wore hischaps. I could not persuade him to part with these. They rustled onthe brush and impeded his movements, and particularly tired him, andmade him look like a diminutive cowboy. How eager, keen, boyishlyvain, imaginative! He was crazy to see game, to shoot anything, particularly bears. But it contented him to hunt turkeys. Many a stumpand bit of color he mistook for game of some kind. Nevertheless, Ihad to take credence in what he thought he saw, for his eyesight wasunusually quick and keen. 

That afternoon Edd and Doyle arrived, reporting an extremely rough, roundabout climb up to the rim, where they had left the wagon. As itwas impossible to haul the supplies down into the canyon theywere packed down to camp on burros. Isbel had disapproved of thisprocedure, a circumstance that struck me with peculiar significance, which Lee explained by telling me Isbel was one of the peculiar breedof cowboys, who no sooner were they out on the range than they wantedto go back to town again. The truth was I had not met any of thatbreed, though I had heard of them. This peculiarity of Isbel's beganto be related in my mind to his wastefulness as a cook. He cooked andthrew away as much as we ate. I asked him to be careful and to goeasy with our supplies, but I could not see that my request made anydifference. 

After supper this evening R. C. Heard a turkey call up on the hill eastof camp. Then I heard it, and Romer also. We ran out a ways into theopen to listen the better. R. C. 's ears were exceptionally keen. Hecould hear a squirrel jump a long distance in the forest. In this casehe distinctly heard three turkeys fly up into trees. I heard one. Romer declared he heard a flock. Then R. C. Located a big bronze andwhite gobbler on a lower limb of a huge pine. Presently I too espiedit. Whereupon we took shot-gun and rifle, and sallied forth sure offetching back to camp some wild turkey meat. Romer tagged at ourheels. 

Hurrying to the slope we climbed up at least three-quarters of theway, as swiftly as possible. And that was work enough to make me wetand hot. The sun had set and twilight was upon us, so that we needsmust hurry if we were to be successful. Locating the big gobblerturned out to be a task. We had to climb over brush and around rocks, up a steep slope, rather open; and we had to do it without being seenor making noise. Romer, despite his eagerness, did very well indeed. At last I espied our quarry, and indeed the sight was thrilling. Wild turkey gobblers to me, who had hunted them enough to learn howsagacious and cunning and difficult to stalk they were, always seemedas provocative of excitement as larger game. This big fellow hopped upfrom limb to limb of the huge dead pine, and he bobbed around as ifundecided, and tried each limb for a place to roost. Then he hoppedfarther up until we lost sight of him in the gnarled net-work ofbranches. 

R. C. Wanted me to slip on alone, but I preferred to have him and Romergo too. So we slipped stealthily upward until we reached the level. Then progress was easier. I went to the left with the rifle, and R. C. With the . 20-gauge, and Romer, went around to the right. How rapidlyit was growing dark! Low down in the forest I could not distinguishobjects. We circled that big pine tree, and I made rather a widedetour, perhaps eighty yards from it. At last I got the upper part ofthe dead pine silhouetted against the western sky. Moving to and fro Ifinally made out a large black lump way out upon a spreading branch. Could that be the gobbler? I studied that dark enlarged part of thelimb with great intentness, and I had about decided that it was onlya knot when I saw a long neck shoot out. That lump was the wise oldturkey all right. He was almost in the top of the tree and far outfrom the trunk. No wild cat or lynx could ever surprise him there! Ireflected upon the instinct that governed him to protect his life socunningly. Safe he was from all but man and gun!

When I came to aim at him with the rifle I found that I could seeonly a blur of sights. Other branches and the tip of a very high pineadjoining made a dark background. I changed my position, workingaround to where the background was all open sky. It proved to bebetter. By putting the sights against this open sky I could faintlysee the front sight through the blurred ring. It was a good long shoteven for daylight, and I had a rifle I knew nothing about. But all thedifficulty only made a keener zest. Just then I heard Romer cry outexcitedly, and then R. C. Spoke distinctly. Far more careless than thatthey began to break twigs under their feet. The gobbler grew uneasy. How he stretched out his long neck! He heard them below. I called outlow and sharp: "Stand still! Be quiet!" Then I looked again throughthe blurred peep-sight until I caught the front sight against the opensky. This done I moved the rifle over until I had the sight alignedagainst the dark shape. Straining my eyes I held hard--then fired. Thebig dark lump on the branch changed shape, and fell, to alight with asounding thump. I heard Romer running, but could not see him. Then hishigh voice pealed out: "I got him, Dad. You made a grand peg!"

Not only had Romer gotten him, but he insisted on packing him back tocamp. The gobbler was the largest I ever killed, not indeed one of thehuge thirty-five pounders, but a fat, heavy turkey, and quite a loadfor a boy. Romer packed him down that steep slope in the dark withouta slip, for which performance I allowed him to stay up a while aroundthe camp-fire. 

The Haughts came over from their camp that night and visited us. Muchas I loved to sit alone beside a red-embered fire at night in theforest, or on the desert, I also liked upon occasions to have company. We talked and talked. Old-timer Doyle told more than one of his "inthe early days" stories. Then Haught told us some bear stories. Thefirst was about an old black bear charging and sliding down at him. Hesaid no hunter should ever shoot at a bear above him, because it couldcome down at him as swiftly as a rolling rock. This time he worked thelever of his rifle at lightning speed, and at the last shot he "shoresaw bear hair right before his eyes. " His second story was about aboy who killed a bear, and was skinning it when five more bears camealong, in single file, and made it very necessary that he climb a treeuntil they had gone. His third story was about an old she-bear thathad two cubs. Haught happened to ride within sight of her whenevidently she thought it time to put her cubs in a safe place. So shetried to get them to climb a spruce tree, and finally had to cuff andspank them to make them go up. In connection with this story he toldus he had often seen she-bears spank their cubs. More thrilling washis fourth story about a huge grizzly, a sheep and cattle killer thatpassed through the country, leaving death behind him on the range. 

Romer's enjoyment of this story-telling hour around the glowingcamp-fire was equalled by his reluctance to go to bed. "Aw, Dad, please let me hear one more, " he pleaded. His shining eyes would haveweakened a sterner discipline than mine. And Haught seemed inspired bythem. 

"Wal now, listen to this hyar, " he began again, with a twinkle in hiseye. "Thar was an old fellar had a ranch in Chevelon Canyon, an' hewas always bein' pestered by mountain lions. His name was Bill Tinker. Now Bill was no sort of a hunter, fact was he was afeerd of lions an'bears, but he shore did git riled when any critters rustled aroundhis cabin. One day in the fall he comes home an' seen a big she-lionsneakin' around. He grabbed a club, an' throwed it, and yelled toscare the critter away. Wal, he had an old water barrel layin' around, an' darned if the lion didn't run in thet barrel an' hide. Bill runquick an' flopped the barrel end up, so he had the lion trapped. Hehad to set on the barrel to hold it down. Shore that lion raised oldJasper under the barrel. Bill was plumb scared. Then he seen thelion's tail stick out through the bung-hole. Bill bent over an' shorequick tied a knot in thet long tail. Then he run fer his cabin. Whenhe got to the door he looked back to see the lion tearin' down thehill fer the woods with the barrel bumpin' behind her. Bill said henever seen her again till next spring, an' she had the barrel still onher tail. But what was stranger'n thet Bill swore she had four cubswith her an' each of them had a keg on its tail. "

We all roared with laughter except Romer. His interest had beenso all-absorbing, his excitement so great, and his faith in thestory-teller so reverential that at first he could not grasp the trickat the end of the story. His face was radiant, his eyes were dark anddilated. When the truth dawned upon him, amaze and disappointmentchanged his mobile face, and then came mirth. He shouted as if to thetree-tops on high. Long after he was in bed I heard him laughing tohimself. 

I was awakened a little after daylight by the lad trying to get intohis boots. His boots were rather tight, and somehow, even in a dryforest, he always contrived to get them wet, so that in the morning itwas a herculean task for him to pull them on. This occasion appearedmore strenuous than usual. "Son, what's the idea?" I inquired. "It'sjust daylight--not time to get up. " He desisted from his laborslong enough to pant: "Uncle Rome's--gone after turkeys. Edd's goingto--call them with--a caller--made out of a turkey's wing-bone. " AndI said: "But they've gone now. " Whereupon he subsided: "Darned oldboots! I heard Edd and Uncle Rome. I'd been ready if I could have gotinto my darned old boots. .. . See here, Dad, I'm gonna wear moccasins. "

III

As we were sitting round the camp-fire, eating breakfast, R. C. And Eddreturned; and R. C. Carried a turkey gobbler the very size and color ofthe one I had shot the night before. R. C. 's face wore the keen, pleasedexpression characteristic of it when he had just had some unusual andsatisfying experience. 

[Illustration: ZANE GREY ON DON CARLOS]

[Illustration: WILD TURKEY]

"Sure was great, " he said, warming his hands at the fire. "We went upon the hill where you killed your gobbler last night. Got there justin the gray light of dawn. We were careful not to make any noise. Eddsaid if there were any more turkeys they would come down at daylight. So we waited until it was light enough to see. Then Edd got out histurkey bone and began to call. Turkeys answered from the trees allaround. By George, it was immense! Edd had picked out a thicket oflittle pines for us to hide in, and in front of us was a glade with abig fallen tree lying across it. Edd waited a few moments. The woodswas all gray and quiet. I don't know when I've felt so good. Then hecalled again. At once turkeys answered from all around in the trees. Next I heard a swish of wings, then a thump. Then more swishes. Theturkeys were flying down from their roosts. It seemed to me in myexcitement that there were a hundred of them. We could hear thempattering over the dry ground. Edd whispered: 'They're down. Now wegot to do some real callin'. ' I felt how tense, how cautious he was. When he called again there was some little difference, I don't knowwhat, unless it was his call sounded more like a real turkey. Theyanswered. They were gathering in front of us, and I made sure werecoming into the glade. Edd stopped calling. Then he whispered: 'Readynow. Look out!'. .. Sure I was looking all right. This was my firstexperience calling turkeys and I simply shook all over. Suddenly Isaw a turkey head stick up over the log. Then!--up hopped a beautifulgobbler. He walked along the log, looked and peered, and stretched hisneck. Sure he was suspicious. Edd gave me a hunch, which I took to bea warning to shoot quick. That was a hard place for me. I wanted towatch the gobbler. I wanted to see the others. We could hear them allover the glade. But this was my chance. Quickly I rose and took a pegat him. A cloud of feathers puffed off him. He gave a great bounce, flapping his wings. I heard a roaring whirr of other turkeys. With myeye on my gobbler I seemed to see the air full of big, black, flyingthings. My gobbler came down, bounced up again, got going--when withthe second barrel I knocked him cold. Then I stood there watching theflock whirring every way into the forest. Must have been thirty-fiveor forty of them, all gobblers. It was a great sight. And right here Ideclared myself--wild turkey is the game for me. "

Romer manifestly listened to this narrative with mingled feelings ofdelight and despair. "Uncle Rome, wild turkey's the game for me, too. .. And by Gosh! I'll fix those boots of mine!"

That morning we were scheduled for another bear hunt, on which I haddecided to go down under the rim with Edd and George. Lee had hisdoubts about my horse, and desired me to take his, or at least oneof the others. Now his horse was too spirited for me to ride afterhounds, and I did not want to take one of the others, so I wascompelled to ride my own. At the last moment Lee had been disappointedin getting a mustang he particularly wanted for me, and so it hadfallen about that my horse was the poorest in the outfit, which to putit mildly was pretty poor. I had made the best of the matter so far, and hoped to continue doing so. 

We rode up the east slope of Beaver Dam Canyon, through the forest, and out along the rim for five or six miles, way on the other side ofthe promontory where I had gotten lost. Here Haught left us, takingwith him R. C. And Lee and Nielsen, all of whom were to have standsalong the rim. We hoped to start a bear and chase him round under thehigh points toward Horton Thicket. 

The magnificent view from the head of a trail where Edd started downimpressed me so powerfully that I lagged behind. Below me heaveda split, tossed, dimpled, waving, rolling world of black-greenforestland. Far across it stood up a rugged, blue, waved range ofmountains--the Sierra Anchas. 

The trail was rough, even for Arizonians, which made it for me littleshort of impassable. I got off to lead my horse. He had to be pulledmost of the time, wherefore I lost patience with him. I loved horses, but not stubborn ones. All the way down the rocky trail the bunchgrass and wild oak and manzanita were so thick that I had to crush myway through. At length I had descended the steep part to find Edd andGeorge waiting for me below on the juniper benches. These were slopesof red earth or clay, bare of grass, but thick with junipers, cactus, and manzanita. This face of the great rim was a southern exposure, hot and dusty. The junipers were thick. The green of their foliagesomewhat resembled cedars, but their berries were gray-blue, almostlavender in color. I tasted several from different trees, until Ifound one with sweet, somewhat acrid taste. Significant it was thatthis juniper had broken branches where bears had climbed to eat thefruit, and all around on the ground beneath was bear sign. Edd saidthe tracks were cold, but all the same he had to be harsh with thehounds to hold them in. I counted twenty piles of bear manure underone juniper, and many places where bears had scraped in the soft earthand needles. 

We went on down this slope, getting into thicker brush and rougherground. All at once the hounds opened up in thrilling chorus of baysand barks. I saw Edd jump off his horse to stoop and examine theground, where evidently he had seen a bear track. "Fresh--made lastnight!" he yelled, mounting hurriedly. "Hi! Hi! Hi!" His horse leapedthrough the brush, and George followed. In an instant they were out ofsight. Right there my trouble began. I spurred my horse after them, and it developed that he differed from me in regard to direction andgoing. He hated the brush. But I made him take to it and made him run. Dodging branches was an old story for me, and if I had been on a goodfast horse I might have kept Edd and George in sight. As it was, however, I had to follow them by the sound of hoofs and breakingbrush. From the way the hounds bayed I knew they had struck a hotscent. They worked down the slope, and assuredly gave me a wild rideto keep within hearing of them. My horse grew excited, which factincreased his pace, his obstinacy, and likewise my danger. Twice heunseated me. I tore my coat, lost my hat, scratched my face, skinnedmy knees, but somehow I managed to keep within hearing. 

I came to a deep brush-choked gorge, impassable at that point. Luckilythe hounds turned here and started back my way. By riding alongthe edge of this gorge I kept up with them. They climbed out anintersecting ravine and up on the opposite side. I forced my horse togo down this rather steep soft slope. At the bottom I saw a littlespring of water with fresh bear tracks around it, and one place wherethe bear had caved in a soft bank. Here my horse suddenly plunged andwent to his knees in the yielding red clay. He snorted in fright. Thebank slid with him and I tumbled off. But nothing serious happened. Iran down, caught him, mounted, and spurred him up the other side. Onceup he began to run. I heard the boys yelling not far away and thehounds were baying up above me. They were climbing fast, working tothe left, toward an oak thicket. It took effort to slow down my steed. He acted crazy and I began to suspect that he had caught a whiff ofthe bear. Most horses are afraid of bears and lions. Sight of Edd andGeorge, who appeared in an open spot, somewhat quieted my mount. 

"Trail's gettin' hot up there, " declared Edd. "That bear's beddedsomewhere an' I'll bet the hounds jumped him. Listen to Old Tom!"

How the deep sonorous bay of Old Tom awoke the echoes under thecliffs! And Old Dan's voice was a hoarse bellow. The other houndsyelped. 

Edd blew a mellow blast from his hunting-horn, and that awoke otherand more melodious echoes. "There's father up on the rim, " he said. Ilooked, and finally saw Haught perched like a black eagle on a crag. His gun flashed in the strong sunlight. 

Somewhere up there the hounds jumped the bear. Anybody could have toldthat. What a wild chorus! Edd and George answered to it with whoopsas wild, and they galloped their horses over ground and through brushwhere they should have been walked. I followed, or tried to follow;and here my steed showed his bull-headed, obstinate nature. If he hadbeen afraid but still game I would have respected him, but he was acoward and mean. He wanted to have his way, which was to go the otherdirection, and to rid himself of me. So we had it hot and heavyalong that rough slope, with honors about even. As for bruises andscratches, however, I sustained the most. In the excitement of thechase and anger at the horse I forgot all about any risks. This alwaysis the way in adventure. Hot racing blood governed me entirely. Whenever I got out in an open place, where I could ride fast and hearand see, then it was all intensely thrilling. Both hounds and comradeswere above me, but apparently working down. 

Thus for me the necessity of hurry somewhat lessened. I slowed to atrot, peering everywhere, listening with all my ears. I had stoppedyelling, because my horse had misunderstood that. We got into aregion of oak thickets, small saplings, scrubby, close together, butbeautiful with their autumn-tinted leaves. Next I rode through a mapledell, shady, cool, where the leafy floor was all rose-pink-red. Myhorse sent the colored leaves flying. 

Soon, however, we got into the thickets again, low live-oak andmanzanita, which kind of brush my horse detested. I did not blamehim for that. As the hounds began to work down my keen excitementincreased. If they had jumped the bear and were chasing him down Imight run upon him any moment. This both appealed to me and caused meapprehension. Suppose he were a bad cinnamon or a grizzly? What wouldbecome of me on that horse? I decided that I had better carry my riflein my hand, so in case of a sudden appearance of the bear and I wasthrown or had a fall off, then I would be prepared. So forthwith Idrew the rifle out of the scabbard, remembering as I did so thatHaught had cautioned me, in case of close quarters with a bear and theneed of quick shooting, to jerk the lever down hard. If my horse hadcut up abominably before he now began to cover himself with a gloryof abominableness. I had to jam him through the thickets. He was anuncomfortable horse to ride under the best circumstances; here hewas as bad as riding a picket-fence. When he got his head, which wasoften, he carried me into thickets of manzanita that we could notpenetrate, and had to turn back. I found that I was working highup the slope, and bad luck as I was having with my horse, I stillappeared to keep fairly close to the hounds. 

When we topped a ridge of this slope the wind struck us strong in theface. The baying of the hounds rang clear and full and fierce. Myhorse stood straight up. Then he plunged back and bolted down theslope. His mouth was like iron. I could neither hold nor turn him. However perilous this ride I had to admit that at last my horse wasrunning beautifully. In fact he was running away! He had gotten a hotscent of that bear. He hurdled rocks, leaped washes, slid down banks, plunged over places that made my hair stand up stiff, and worst of allhe did not try to avoid brush or trees or cactus. Manzanita he toreright through, leaving my coat in strips decorating our wake. I had tohold on, to lie flat, to dodge and twist, and all the time watch for aplace where I might fall off in safety. But I did not get a chanceto fall off. A loud clamoring burst from the hounds apparently closebehind drove my horse frantic. Before he had only run--now he flew!He left me hanging in the thick branches of a juniper, from which Idropped blind and breathless and stunned. Disengaging myself from thebroken and hanging branches I staggered aside, rifle in hand, tryingto recover breath and wits. 

Then, in that nerveless and shaken condition, I heard the breakingof twigs and thud of soft steps right above me. Peering up with myhalf-blinded eyes I saw a huge red furry animal coming, half obscuredby brush. It waved aside from his broad back. A shock ran over me--abursting gush of hot blood that turned to ice as it rushed. "Bigcinnamon bear!" I whispered, hoarsely. 

Instinctively I cocked and leveled the rifle, and though I could notclearly see the red animal bearing down the slope, such was my statethat I fired. Then followed a roaring crash--a terrible breakingonslaught upon the brush--and the huge red mass seemed to flash downtoward me. I worked the lever of the rifle. But I had forgottenHaught's caution. I did not work the lever far enough down, so thatthe next cartridge jammed in the receiver. With a second shock, different this time, I tried again. In vain! The terrible crashingof brush appeared right upon me. For an instant that seemed an age Istood riveted to the spot, my blood congealing, my heart choking me, my tongue pasted to the roof of my mouth. Then I dropped the rifleand whirled to plunge away. Like a deer I bounded. I took prodigiousbounds. To escape--to find a tree to leap into--that was my onlythought. A few rods down the slope--it seemed a mile--I reached a pinewith low branches. Like a squirrel I ran up this--straddled a limbhigh up--and gazed back. 

My sensations then were dominated by the relief of salvation. I becameconscious of them. Racing blood, bursting heart, labored pang ofchest, prickling, burning skin, a queer involuntary flutter ofmuscles, like a palsy--these attested to the instinctive primitivenature of my state. I heard the crashing of brush, the pound of softjumps over to my left. With eyes that seemed magnifying I gazed to seea big red woolly steer plunge wildly down the slope and disappear. Athird shock possessed me--amaze. I had mistaken a wild, frightenedsteer for a red cinnamon bear!

I sat there some moments straddling that branch. Then I descended, andwent back to the place I had dropped my rifle, and securing that Istood a moment listening. The hounds had taken the chase around belowme into the gorge and were drawing away. It was useless to try tofollow them. I sat down again and gave myself up to meditation. 

I tried to treat the situation as a huge joke, but that would not go. No joke indeed! My horse had made me risk too much, my excitement hadbeen too intense, my fright had been too terrible. Reality for mecould not have been any more grave. I had risked my neck on a stubborncoward of a horse, I had mistaken a steer for a bear, I had forgottenhow to manipulate the borrowed rifle. These were the careless elementsof tragedy. The thought sobered me. I took the lesson to heart. And Ireflected on the possible point of view of the bear. He had probablygone to sleep on a full stomach of juniper berries and a big drinkof spring water. Rudely he had been routed out by a pack of yelping, fiendish hounds. He had to run for his life. What had he done todeserve such treatment? Possibly he might have killed some of Haught'spigs, but most assuredly he had never harmed me. In my sober frame ofmind then I rather disapproved of my wholly unjustifiable murderousintent. I would have deserved it if the steer had really been thebear. Certainly I hoped the bear would outrun the hounds and escape. Iweighed the wonderful thrill of the chase, the melody of hounds, thezest of spirited action, the peril to limb and life against the thingthat they were done for, with the result that I found them sadlylacking. Peril to limb and life was good for man. If this had not beena fact my performance would have been as cowardly as that of myhorse. Again I had rise up before my mind the spectacle of opposingforces--the elemental in man restrained by the spiritual. Then the oldhaunting thought returned to vex me--man in his development needed theexercise of brawn, muscle, bone red-blood, violence, labor and painand agony. Nature recognized only the survival of the fittest ofany species. If a man allowed a spiritual development, intellect, gentleness, to keep him from all hard, violent action, from tremendousexertion, from fierce fight with elements and beasts, and his ownkind--would he not soon degenerate as a natural physical man?Evolution was a stern inevitable seeking of nature for perfection, for the unattainable. This perfection was something that lived andimproved on strife. Barbarians, Indians, savages were the mostperfect specimens of nature's handiwork; and in proportion to theirdevelopment toward so-called civilized life their physical prowess andperfectness--that was to say, their strength to resist and live andreproduce their kind--absolutely and inevitably deteriorated. 

My reflection did not carry me at that time to any positiveconvictions of what was truest and best. The only conclusions Ieventually arrived at were that I was sore and bruised and dirty andtorn--that I would be happy if the bear got away--that I had lost mymean horse and was glad therefore--that I would have half a dozenhorses and rifles upon my next hunt--and lastly that I would not be inany hurry to tell about mistaking a steer for a bear, and climbing atree. Indeed these last facts have been religiously kept secret untilchronicled here. 

Shortly afterward, as I was making a lame and slow headway towardHorton Thicket, where I hoped to find a trail out, I heard Eddyelling, and I answered. Presently we met. He was leading my horse, and some of the hounds, notably Old Tom and Dan, were with him. 

"Where's the bear?" I asked. 

"He got away down in the breaks, " replied Edd. "George is tryin' tocall the hounds back. What happened to you? I heard you shoot. "

"My horse didn't care much for me or the brush, " I replied. "He leftme--rather suddenly. And--I took a shot at what I thought was a bear. "

"I seen him once, " said Edd, with eyes flashing. "Was just goin' tosmoke him up when he jumped out of sight. "

My mortification and apprehension were somewhat mitigated when Iobserved that Edd was dirty, ragged, and almost as much disheveled asI was. I had feared he would see in my appearance certain unmistakableevidences that I had made a tenderfoot blunder and then run formy life. But Edd took my loss of hat, and torn coat, and generalbedraggled state as a matter of course. Indeed I somehow felt a littlepride at his acceptance of me there in the flesh. 

We rode around the end of this slope, gradually working down intoHorton Thicket, where a wild confusion of dense timber engaged mysight. Presently George trotted up behind us with the other dogs. "Welost him down on the hot dry ridges. Hounds couldn't track him, " wasall George said. Thereupon Edd blew four blasts upon his hunting-horn, which were signals to those on the stands above that the hunt was overfor the day. 

Even in the jungle tropics I had never seen such dense shade as thisdown in Horton Thicket. The timber grew close and large, and thefoliage was matted, letting little sunlight through. Dark, green andbrown, fragrant, cool thicket indeed it was. We came to a huge sprucetree, the largest I ever saw--Edd said eight feet through at the base, but he was conservative. It was a gnarled, bearded, gray, old monarchof the forest, with bleached, dead top. For many years it had been thehome of swarms of wild honey bees. Edd said more than one bee-hunterhad undertaken to cut down this spruce. This explained a number ofdeeply cut notches in the huge trunk. "I'll bet Nielsen could chop itdown, " declared Edd. I admitted the compliment to our brawny Norwegianaxe-wielder, but added that I certainly would not let him do it, whether we were to get any honey or not. 

By and bye we reached the bottom of the thicket where we crossed aswift clear cold brook. Here the smells seemed cool, sweet, wild withspruce and pine. This stream of granite water burst from a springunder a cliff. What a roar it made! I drank until I could drink nomore. Huge boulders and windfalls, moved by water at flood season, obstructed the narrow stream-bed. We crossed to start climbing thenorth slope, and soon worked up out of the thicket upon a steep, rockyslope, with isolated pines. We struck a deer-trail hard to follow. Above me loomed the pine-tipped rim, with its crags, cliffs, pinnacles, and walls, all gray, seamed and stained, and in some cleftsblazes of deep red and yellow foliage. 

When we surmounted the slope, and eventually reached camp, I foundIsbel entertaining strangers, men of rough garb, evidently riders ofthe range. That was all right, but I did not like his prodigality withour swiftly diminishing store of eatables. 

To conclude about Isbel--matters pertaining to our commissarydepartment, during the next few days, went from bad to worse. Doyleadvised me not to take Isbel to task, and was rather evasive ofreasons for so advising me. Of course I listened and attended to myold guide's advice, but I fretted under the restraint. We had a spellof bad weather, wind and rain, and hail off and on, and at length, thethird day, a cold drizzling snow. During this spell we did but littlehunting. The weather changed, and the day afterward I rode my meanhorse twenty miles on a deer hunt. We saw one buck. Upon our arrivalat camp, about four o'clock, which hour was too early for dinner, Iwas surprised and angered to find Isbel eating an elaborate meal withthree more strange, rough-appearing men. Doyle looked serious. Nielsenhad a sharp glint in his gray eye. As for myself, this procedure ofour cook's was more than I could stand. 

"Isbel, you're discharged, " I said, shortly. "Take your outfit and getout. Lee will lend you a pack horse. "

"Wal, I ain't fired, " drawled Isbel. "I quit before you rode in. Beatyou to it!"

"Then if you quit it seems to me you are taking liberties withsupplies you have no right to, " I replied. 

"Nope. Cook of any outfit has a right to all the chuck he wants. That's western way. "

"Isbel, listen to this and then get out, " I went on. "You've wastedour supplies just to get us to hurry and break camp. As for westernways I know something of them. It's a western way for a man to besquare and honest in his dealings with an outsider. In all my yearsand in all my trips over the southwest you are the first westerner togive me the double-cross. You have that distinction. "

Then I turned my back upon him and walked to my tent. Hisacquaintances left at once, and he quickly packed and followed. Faithful old Doyle took up the duties of cook and we gained, ratherthan missed by the change. Our supplies, however, had been so depletedthat we could not stay much longer on the hunt. 

By dint of much determination as to the manner and method of my nexthunt I managed to persuade myself that I could make the best of thisunlucky sojourn in the woods. No rifle, no horse worth riding, no foodto stay out our time--it was indeed bad luck for me. After supper thetension relaxed. Then I realized all the men were relieved. Only Romerregretted loss of Isbel. When the Doyles and Haughts saw how I tookmy hard luck they seemed all the keener to make my stay pleasant andprofitable. Little they knew that their regard was more to me thanmaterial benefits and comforts of the trip. To travelers of thedesert and hunters and riders of the open there are always hard anduncomfortable and painful situations to be met with. And in meetingthese, if it can be done with fortitude and spirit that win therespect of westerners, it is indeed a reward. 

Next day, in defiance of a thing which never should beconsidered--luck--I took Haught's rifle again, and my lazy, sullen, intractable horse, and rode with Edd and George down into HortonThicket. At least I could not be cheated out of fresh air andbeautiful scenery. 

We dismounted and tied our horses at the brook, and while Edd tookthe hounds up into the dense thicket where the bears made their beds, George and I followed a trail up the brook. In exactly ten minutes thehounds gave tongue. They ran up the thicket, which was favorable forus, and from their baying I judged the bear trail to be warm. In thedense forest we could not see five rods ahead. George averred that hedid not care to have a big cinnamon or a grizzly come running downthat black thicket. And as for myself I did not want one so veryexceedingly much. I tried to keep from letting the hounds excite me, which effort utterly failed. We kept even with the hounds until theirbaying fell off, and finally grew desultory, and then ceased. "Guess they had the wrong end of his trail, " said George. With thisexasperating feature of bear and lion chases I was familiar. Mosthounds, when they struck a trail, could not tell in which directionthe bear was traveling. A really fine hound, however, like BuffaloJones' famous Don, or Scott Teague's Sampson or Haught's Old Dan, would grow suspicious of a scent that gradually cooled, and wouldeventually give it up. Young hounds would back-track game as far aspossible. 

After waiting a while we returned to our horses, and presently Eddcame back with the pack. "Big bear, but cold trail. Called them off, "was all he said. We mounted and rode across the mouth of HortonThicket round to the juniper slopes, which I had occasion to remember. I even saw the pine tree which I had so ignominiously climbed. How weridicule and scorn some of our perfectly natural actions--afterwards!Edd had brought three of the pups that day, two-year-olds as full ofmischief as pups could be. They jumped a bunch of deer and chased themout on the hard red cedar covered ridges. We had a merry chase to headthem off. Edd gave them a tongue-lashing and thrashing at one and thesame time. I felt sorry for the pups. They had been so full of frolicand fight. How crestfallen they appeared after Edd got through!"Whaddaye mean, " yelled Edd, in conclusion. "Chasin' deer!. .. Do youthink you're a lot of rabbit dogs?" From the way the pups eyed Eddso sheepishly and adoringly, I made certain they understood himperfectly, and humbly confessed their error. 

Old Tom and Old Dan had not come down off the slopes with us after thepups. And upon our return both the old hounds began to bay deep andfast. With shrill ki-yi the pups bounded off, apparently frantic tomake up for misbehavior. Soon the whole pack was in full chorus. Edd and George spurred into the brush, yelling encouragement to thehounds. This day I managed to make my horse do a little of what Iwanted. To keep in sight of the Haught boys was indeed beyond me; butI did not lose sound of them. This chase led us up slope and downslope, through the brush and pine thickets, over bare ridges and intogullies; and eventually out into the basin, where the hounds gotbeyond hearing. 

"One of them long, lean, hungry bears, " remarked Edd. "He'd outrun anydogs. "

Leisurely then we turned to the three-hour ride back to camp. Hot sunin the open, cool wind in the shade, dry smells of the forest, greenand red and orange and purple of the foliage--these rendered the hourspleasant for me. When I reached camp I found Romer in trouble. He hadcut his hand with a forbidden hunting knife. As he told me about ithis face was a study and his explanation was astounding. When hefinished I said: "You mean then that my hunting knife walked out ofits sheath on my belt and followed you around and cut you of its ownaccord?"

"Aw, I--I--it--" he floundered. 

Whereupon I lectured him about forbidden things and untruthfulness. His reply was: "But, Dad, it hurts like sixty. Won't you put somethin'on it?"

I dressed and bandaged the trifling cut for him, telling him the whilehow little Indian boys, when cut or kicked or bruised, never showedthat they were hurt. "Huh!" he grunted. "Guess there's no Indian inme. .. . I must take after mother!"

That afternoon and night the hounds straggled in, Old Tom and Danfirst, and then the others, one by one, fagged-out and foot-sore. Nextmorning, however, they appeared none the worse for their long chase. We went again to Horton Thicket to rout out a bear. 

This time I remained on top of the rim with R. C. And Nielsen; and wetook up a stand across the canyon, near where my first stand hadbeen. Here we idled the hours away waiting for the hounds to startsomething. While walking along the rim I happened to look across thebig cove that cut into the promontory, and way on the other slope whatdid I espy but a black bear. He appeared to be very small, or merely acub. Running back to R. C. And Nielsen I told them, and we all took upour rifles. It occurred to me that the distance across this cove wastoo far for accurate shooting, but it never occurred to me to jump onmy horse and ride around the head of the cove. 

"He's not scared. Let's watch him, " suggested R. C. 

[Illustration: WILD TURKEYS]

[Illustration: THE WHITE QUAKING ASPS]

We saw this bear walk along, poke around, dig into the ground, go behindtrees, come out again, and finally stand up on his hind feet andapparently reach for berries or something on a bush. R. C. Bethoughthimself of his field-glass. After one look he exclaimed: "Say, fellows, he's a whopper of a bear! He'll weigh five hundred pounds. Just take alook at him!"

My turn with the glasses revealed to me that what I had imagined to bea cub was indeed a big bear. After Nielsen looked he said: "Never sawone so big in Norway. "

"Well, look at that black scoundrel!" exclaimed R. C. "Standing up!Looking around! Wagging his head!. .. Say, you saw him first. Supposeyou take some pegs at him. "

"Wish Romer were here. I'd let him shoot at that bear, " I replied. Then I got down on my knee, and aiming as closely as possible I fired. The report rang out in the stillness, making hollow echoes. We heardthe bullet pat somewhere. So did the bear hear it. Curiously he lookedaround, as if something had struck near him. But scared he certainlywas not. Then I shot four times in quick succession. 

"Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated R. C. "He heard the bullets hit andwonders what the dickens. .. . Say, now he hears the reports! Look athim stand!"

"Boys, smoke him up, " I said, after the manner of Haught's vernacular. So while I reloaded R. C. And Nielsen began to shoot. We had more funout of it than the bear. Evidently he located us. Then he began torun, choosing the open slope by which he had come. I got five moreshots at him as he crossed this space, and the last bullet puffedup dust under him, making him take a header down the slope intothe thicket. Whereupon we all had a good laugh. Nielsen appearedparticularly pleased over his first shots at a real live bear. 

"Say, why didn't you think to ride round there?" queried R. C. Thoughtfully. "He didn't see us. He wasn't scared. In a few minutesyou could have been on the rim of that slope right over him. Got himsure!"

"R. C. Why didn't you think to tell me to do that?" I retorted. "Whydon't we ever think the right thing before it is too late?"

"That's our last chance this year--I feel it in my bones, " declaredR. C. Mournfully. 

His premonition turned out to be correct. Upon our arrival at camp weheard some very disquieting news. A neighbor of Haught's had taken thetrouble to ride up to inform us about the epidemic of influenza. Thestrange disease was all over the country, in the cities, the villages, the cow-camps, the mines--everywhere. At first I thought Haught'sinformant was exaggerating a mere rumor. But when he told of theIndians dying on the reservations, and that in Flagstaff eightypeople had succumbed in a few weeks--then I was thoroughly alarmed. Imperative was it indeed for me to make a decision at once. I made itinstantly. We would break camp. So I told the men. Doyle was relievedand glad. He wanted to get home to his family. The Haughts, naturally, were sorry. My decision once arrived at, the next thing was toconsider which way to travel. The long ten-day trip down into thebasin, round by Payson, and up on the rim again, and so on toFlagstaff was not to be considered at all. The roads by way of Winslowand Holbrook were long and bad. Doyle wanted to attempt the old armyroad along the rim made by General Crook when he moved the capturedApaches to the reservation assigned to them. No travel over this roadfor many years! Haught looked dubious, but finally said we could chopour way through thickets, and haul the wagon empty up bad hills. Thematter of decision was left to me. Decisions of such nature were noteasy to make. The responsibility was great, but as the hunt had beenfor me it seemed incumbent upon me to accept responsibility. What mademe hesitate at all was the fact that I had ridden five miles or morealong the old Crook road. I remembered. I told Lee and I told Nielsenthat we would find it tough going. Lee laughed like a cowboy: "We'llgo a-hummin', " he said. Nielsen shrugged his brawny shoulders. Whatwere obstacles to this man of the desert? I realized that his look haddecided me. 

"All right, men, we'll try the old Crook road, " I said. "Pack what youcan up to the wagon to-day, and to-morrow early we'll break camp. "

I walked with the Haughts from our camp across the brook to theirs, where we sat down in the warm sunshine. I made light of this huntingtrip in which it had turned out I had no gun, no horse, no blankets, no rain-proof tent, no adequate amount of food supplies, and no goodluck, except the wonderful good luck of being well, of seeing amagnificent country, of meeting some more fine westerners. But theHaughts appeared a little slow to grasp, or at least to credit myphilosophy. We were just beginning to get acquainted. Their regret wasthat they had been unable to see me get a bear, a deer, a lion, andsome turkeys. Their conviction, perhaps formed from association withmany sportsman hunters, was that owing to my bad luck I could not andwould not want to come again. 

"See here, Haught, " I said. "I've had a fine time. Now forget aboutthis hunt. It's past. We'll plan another. Will you save next fall forme?"

"I shore will, " he replied. 

"Very well, then, it's settled. Say by August you and the boys cuta trail or two in and out of Horton Thicket. I'll send you money inadvance to pay for this work, and get new hounds and outfit. I'llleave Flagstaff on September fifteenth. Meet you here Septembertwenty-first, along about noon. "

We shook hands upon the deal. It pleased me that the Haughts laughedat me yet appeared both surprised and happy. As I left I heard Eddremark: "Not a kick!. .. Meet him next year at noon! What do you knowabout thet?" This remark proved that he had paid me a compliment ineastern slang most likely assimilated from R. C. And Romer. 

The rest of the afternoon our camp resembled a beehive, and nextmorning it was more like a bedlam. The horses were fresh, spirited, and they had tender backs; the burros stampeded because of somesurreptitious trick of Romer's. But by noon we had all the outfitpacked in the wagon. Considering the amount of stuff, and the long, rough climb up to the wagon, this was a most auspicious start. Ihoped that it augured well for us, but while I hoped I had a gloomyforeboding. We bade good-bye to Haught and his son George. Edd offeredto go with us as far as he knew the country, which distance was notmany miles. So we set out upon our doubtful journey, our saddle-horsesin front of the lumbering wagon. 

We had five miles of fairly level road through open forest along therim, and then we struck such a rocky jumble of downhill grade that thebundles fell off the wagon. They had to be tied on. When we came to along slow slant uphill, a road of loose rocks, we made about one milean hour. This slow travel worked havoc upon my mind. I wanted tohurry. I wanted to get out of the wilds. That awful rumor aboutinfluenza occupied my mind and struck cold fear into my heart. Whatof my family? No making the best of this! Slowly we toiled on. Sunsetovertook us at a rocky ledge which had to be surmounted. With lassoson saddle horses in front of the two teams, all pulling hard, weovercame that obstacle. But at the next little hill, which weencountered about twilight, one of the team horses balked. Urging him, whipping him, served no purpose; and it had bad effect upon the otherhorses. Darkness was upon us with the camp-site Edd knew of stillmiles to the fore. No grass, no water for the horses! But we had tocamp there. All hands set to work. It really was fun--it should havebeen fine for me--but my gloomy obsession to hurry obscured my mind. I marveled at old Doyle, over seventy, after that long, hard day, quickly and efficiently cooking a good hot supper. Romer had enjoyedthe day. He said he was tired, but would like to stay up beside themighty camp-fire Nielsen built. I had neither energy or spirit tooppose him. The night was dark and cold and windy; the fire felt sogood that I almost went asleep beside it. We had no time to put uptents. I made our bed, crawled into it, stretched out with infiniterelief; and the last thing I was aware of was Romer snuggling inbeside me. 

Morning brought an early bestirring of every one. We had to stir toget warm. The air nipped like cold pincers. All the horses were gone;we could not hear a bell. But Lee did not appear worried. I groaned inspirit. More delay! Gloom assailed me. Lee sallied out with his yellowdog Pups. I had forgotten the good quality of Pups, but not my dislikefor him. He barked vociferously, and that annoyed me. R. C. And Ihelped Edd and Nielsen pack the wagon. We worked quick and hard. ThenDoyle called us to breakfast. We had scarcely started to eat when weheard a jangle of bells and the pound of hoofs. I could not believemy ears. Our horses were lost. Nevertheless suddenly they appeared, driven by Lee riding bareback, and Pups barking his head off. We alljumped up with ropes and nose-bags to head off the horses, and soonhad them secured. Not one missing! I asked Lee how in the world he hadfound that wild bunch in less than an hour. Lee laughed. "Pups. Herounded them up in no time. "

Then I wanted to go away and hide behind a thicket and kick myself, but what I actually did was to give Pups part of my meat. I reproachedmyself for my injustice to him. How often had I been deceived inthe surface appearance of people and things and dogs! Most of ourjudgments are wrong. We do not see clearly. 

By nine o'clock we were meeting our first obstacle--the little hill atwhich the sorrel horse had balked. Lo! rested and full of grain, hebalked again! He ruined our start. He spoiled the teams. Lee had morepatience than I would have had. He unhitched the lead team and inplace of the sorrel put a saddle horse called Pacer. Then Doyle triedagain and surmounted the hill. Our saddle horses slowly worked aheadover as rocky and rough a road as I ever traveled. Most of the timewe could see over the rim down into the basin. Along here the rimappeared to wave in gentle swells, heavily timbered and thicklyrock-strewn, with heads of canyons opening down to our right. I sawdeer tracks and turkey tracks, neither of which occasioned me anythrills now. About the middle of the afternoon Edd bade us farewelland turned back. We were sorry to see him go, but as all the countryahead of us was as unfamiliar to him as to us there seemed to be nourgent need of him. 

We encountered a long, steep hill up which the teams, and our saddlehorses combined, could not pull the wagon. We unpacked it, and each ofus, Romer included, loaded a bundle or box in front of his saddle, andtook it up the hill. Then the teams managed the wagon. This incidenthappened four times in less than as many miles. The team horses, having had a rest from hard labor, had softened, and this suddenreturn to strenuous pulling had made their shoulders sore. They eithercould not or would not pull. We covered less than ten miles that day, a very discouraging circumstance. We camped in a pine grove close tothe rim, a splendid site that under favorable circumstances would havebeen enjoyable. At sunset R. C. And Nielsen and Romer saw a black beardown under the rim. The incident was so wonderful for Romer that itbrightened my spirits. "A bear! A big bear, Dad!. .. I saw him! He wasalive! He stood up--like this--wagging his head. Oh! I saw him!"

Our next day's progress was no less than a nightmare. Crawling along, unpacking and carrying, and packing again, we toiled up and down theinterminable length of three almost impassable miles. When nightovertook us it was in a bad place to camp. No grass, no water! A coldgale blew out of the west. It roared through the forest. It bleweverything loose away in the darkness. It almost blew us away in ourbeds. The stars appeared radiantly coldly white up in the vast bluewindy vault of the sky. A full moon soared majestically. Shadowscrossed the weird moon-blanched forest glades. 

At daylight we were all up, cramped, stiff, half frozen, mostlysilent. The water left in the buckets was solid ice. Suddenly someone discovered that Nielsen was missing. The fact filled me withconsternation and alarm. He might have walked in his sleep and fallenover the rim. What had become of him? All his outfit lay scatteredround in his bed. In my bewilderment I imagined many things, even tothe extreme that he might have left us in the lurch. But when I got tothat sad pass of mind I suddenly awakened as if out of an evil dream. My worry, my hurry had obsessed me. High time indeed was it for me tomeet this situation as I had met other difficult ones. To this end Iwent out away from camp, and forgot myself, my imagined possibilities, and thought of my present responsibility, and the issue at hand. Thatinstant I realized my injustice toward Nielsen, and reproached myself. 

Upon my return to camp Nielsen was there, warming one hand over thecamp-fire and holding a cup of coffee in the other. 

"Nielsen, you gave us a scare. Please explain, " I said. 

"Yes, sir. Last night I was worried. I couldn't sleep. I got tothinking we were practically lost. Some one ought to find out what wasahead of us. So I got up and followed the road. Bright moonlight. Iwalked all the rest of the night. And that's all, sir. "

I liked Nielsen's looks then. He reminded me of Jim Emett, theMormon giant to whom difficulties and obstacles were but spurs toachievement. Such men could not be defeated. 

"Well, what did you find out?" I inquired. 

"Change of conditions, sir, " he replied, as a mate to his captain. "Only one more steep hill so far as I went. But we'll have to cutthrough thickets and logs. From here on the road is all grown over. About ten miles west we turn off the rim down a ridge. "

That about the turning-off place was indeed good news. I thankedNielsen. And Doyle appeared immensely relieved. The packing andcarrying had begun to tell on us. Pups ingratiated himself into myaffections. He found out that he could coax meat and biscuit from me. We had three axes and a hatchet; and these we did not pack in thewagon. When Doyle finally got the teams started Lee and Nielsen andR. C. And I went ahead to clear the road. Soon we were halted bythickets of pines, some of which were six inches in diameter at thebase. The road had ceased to be rocky, and that, no doubt, was thereason pine thickets had grown up on it, The wagon kept right at ourheels, and many times had to wait. We cut a way through thickets, torerotten logs to pieces, threw stumps aside, and moved windfalls. BrawnyNielsen seemed ten men in one! What a swath he hacked with his bigaxe! When I rested, which circumstance grew oftener and oftener, I hadto watch Nielsen with his magnificent swing of the axe, or with hismighty heave on a log. Time and again he lifted tree trunks out of theroad. He sweat till he was wringing wet. Neither that day nor the nextwould we have ever gotten far along that stretch of thicketed andobstructed road had it not been for Nielsen. 

At sunset we found ourselves at the summit of a long slowly ascendinghill, deeply forested. It took all the horses together to pull thewagon to the top. Thus when we started down a steep curve, horses andmen both were tired. I was ahead riding beside Romer. Nielsen and R. C. Were next, and Lee had fallen in behind the wagon. As I turned thesharp curve I saw not fifty feet below me a huge log obstructing theroad. 

"Look out! Stop!" I yelled, looking back. 

But I was too late. The horses could not hold back the heavilyladen wagon, and they broke into a gallop. I saw Doyle's face turnwhite--heard him yell. Then I spurred my horse to the side. Romer wasslow or frightened. I screamed at him to get off the road. My heartsank sick within me! Surely he would be run down. As his pony Ryejumped out of the way the shoulder of the black horse, on the offside, struck him a glancing blow. Then the big team hurdled the log, the tongue struck with a crash, the wagon stopped with a lurch, andDoyle was thrown from his seat. 

Quick as a flash Nielsen was on the spot beside the team. The bayhorse was down. The black horse was trying to break away. Nielsen cutand pulled the bay free of the harness, and Lee came tearing down tograsp and hold the black. 

Like a fool I ran around trying to help somehow, but I did not knowwhat to do. I smelled and then saw blood, which fact convinced meof disaster. Only the black horse that had hurdled the log madeany effort to tear away. The other lay quiet. When finally it wasextricated we found that the horse had a bad cut in the breast madeby a snag on the log. We could find no damage done to the wagon. Theharness Nielsen had cut could be mended quickly. What a fortunateoutcome to what had seemed a very grave accident! I was thankfulindeed. But not soon would I forget sight of Romer in front of thatplunging wagon. 

With the horses and a rope we hauled the log to one side of the road, and hitching up again we proceeded on our way. Once I dropped backand asked Doyle if he was all right. "Fine as a fiddle, " he shouted. "This's play to what we teamsters had in the early days. " And verilysomehow I could see the truth of that. A mile farther on we made camp;and all of us were hungry, weary, and quiet. 

Doyle proved a remarkable example to us younger men. Next morninghe crawled out before any one else, and his call was cheery. I wasscarcely able to get out of my bed, but I was ashamed to lie therean instant after I heard Doyle. Possibly my eyesight was dulled byexhaustion when it caused me to see myself as a worn, unshaven, wrinkled wretch. Romer-boy did not hop out with his usual alacrity. R. C. Had to roll over in his bed and get up on all fours. 

We had scant rations for three more days. It behooved us to work andwaste not an hour. All morning, at the pace of a snail it seemed, wechopped and lifted and hauled our way along that old Crook road. Notsince my trip down the Santa Rosa river in Mexico had I labored sostrenuously. 

At noon we came to the turning-off junction, an old blazed road Doylehad some vague knowledge of. "It must lead to Jones' ranch, " Doylekept saying. "Anyway, we've got to take it. " North was our direction. And to our surprise, and exceeding gladness, the road down this ridgeproved to be a highway compared to what we had passed. In the openforest we had to follow it altogether by the blazes on the trees. Butwith all our eyes alert that was easy. The grade was down hill, sothat we traveled fast, covering four miles an hour. Occasionally alog or thicket halted rapid progress. Toward the end of the afternoonsheep and cattle trails joined the now well-defined road, and we knewwe were approaching a ranch. I walked, or rather limped the last mile, for the very good reason that I could not longer bear the trot ofmy horse. The forest grew more open, with smaller pines, and fewerthickets. At sunset I came out upon the brow of a deep barren-lookingcanyon, in the middle of which squatted some old ruined log-cabins. Deserted! Alas for my visions of a cup of cold milk. For hours theyhad haunted me. When Doyle saw the broken-down cabins and corrals heyelled: "Boys, it's Jones' Ranch. I've been here. We're only threemiles from Long Valley and the main road!"

Elated we certainly were. And we rushed down the steep hill to lookfor water. All our drinking water was gone, and the horses had notslaked their thirst for two days. Separating we rode up and down thecanyon. R. C. And Romer found running water. Thereupon with immenserelief and joy we pitched camp near the cabins, forgetting our achesand pains in the certainty of deliverance. 

What a cold, dismal, bleak, stony, and lonesome place! We unpackedonly bedding, and our little store of food. And huddled around thecamp-fire we waited upon Doyle's cooking. The old pioneer talked whilehe worked. 

"Jones' ranch!--I knew Jones in the early days. And I've heard of himlately. Thirty years ago he rode a prairie schooner down into thiscanyon. He had his wife, a fine, strong girl, and he had a gun, anaxe, some chuck, a few horses and cattle, and not much else. He builthim that cabin there and began the real old pioneering of the earlydays. He raised cattle. He freighted to the settlements twice a year. In twenty-five years he had three strapping boys and a girl just asstrapping. And he had a fortune in cattle. Then he sold his stock andleft this ranch. He wanted to give his faithful wife and his childrensome of the comforts and luxuries and advantages of civilization. Thewar came. His sons did not wait for the draft. They entered the army. I heard a story about Abe Jones, the old man's first boy. Abe was aquiet sort of chap. When he got to the army training camp a sergeantasked Abe if he could shoot. Abe said: 'Nope, not much. ' So they gavehim a rifle and told him to shoot at the near target. Abe looked atit sort of funny like and he picked out the farthest target at onethousand yards. And he hit the bull's eye ten times straight running. 'Hey!' gasped the sergeant, 'you long, lanky galoot! You said youcouldn't shoot. ' Abe sort of laughed. 'Reckon I was thinkin' aboutwhat Dad called shootin'. '. .. Well, Abe and his brothers got to Franceto the front. Abe was a sharpshooter. He was killed at Argonne. Bothhis brothers were wounded. They're over there yet. .. . I met a man notlong ago who'd seen Jones recently. And the old pioneer said he andhis wife would like to be back home. And home to them means righthere--Jones' Ranch!"

Doyle's story affected me profoundly. What a theme for a novel! Iwalked away from the camp-fire into the dark, lonely, melancholyArizona night. The ruined cabins, the broken-down corrals, the stonefence, the wash where water ran at wet season--all had subtly changedfor me. Leaning in the doorway of the one-room cabin that had beenhome for these Joneses I was stirred to my depths. Their spiritsabided in that lonely hut. At least I felt something there--somethingstrange, great, simple, inevitable, tragic as life itself. Yet whatcould have been more beautiful, more splendid than the life of Jones, and his wife, and daughter, and sons, especially Abe? Abe Jones! Thename haunted me. In one clear divining flash I saw the life of thelad. I yearned with tremendous passion for the power to tell thesimplicity, the ruggedness, the pathos and the glory of his story. The moan of wind in the pines seemed a requiem for the boy who hadprattled and romped and played under them, who had chopped and shotand rode under them. Into his manhood had gone something of theirstrength and nature. 

We sought our beds early. The night down in that deep, open canyon wasthe coldest we had experienced. I slept but little. At dawn all washoar-white with frost. It crackled under foot. The air had a stingingbite. Yet how sweet, pure, cold to breathe!

Doyle's cheery: "Come and get it, " was welcome call to breakfast. Leeand Pups drove the horses into one of the old corrals. In an hour, while the frost was yet hard and white, we were ready to start. ThenDoyle somewhat chilled our hopes: "Twenty years ago there was a badroad out of here. Maybe one's been made since. "

But one had not been made. And the old road had not been used foryears. Right at the outset we struck a long, steep, winding, rockyroad. We got stalled at the very foot of it. More toil! Unloading thewagon we packed on our saddles the whole load more than a mile up thislast and crowning obstacle. Then it took all the horses together topull the empty wagon up to a level. By that time sunset had overtakenus. Where had the hours gone? Nine hours to go one mile! But there hadto be an end to our agonies. By twilight we trotted down into LongValley, and crossed the main road to camp in a grove we rememberedwell. We partook of a meagre supper, but we were happy. And bed thatnight on a thick layer of soft pine needles, in a spot protected fromthe cold wind, was immensely comfortable. 

Lee woke the crowd next morning. "All rustle, " he yelled. "Thirty-fivemiles to Mormon Lake. Good road. We'll camp there to-night. "

How strange that the eagerness to get home now could only be comparedto the wild desire for the woods a few weeks back! We made an earlystart. The team horses knew that road. They knew they were now on theway home. What difference that made! Jaded as they were they trottedalong with a briskness never seen before on that trip. It began to bea job for us to keep up with Lee, who was on the wagon. Unless a rideris accustomed to horseback almost all of the time a continuous trot ona hard road will soon stove him up. My horse had an atrocious trot. Time and again I had to fall behind to a walk and then lope aheadto catch up. I welcomed the hills that necessitated Lee walking theteams. 

At noon we halted in a grassy grove for an hour's rest. That seemeda precious hour, but to start again was painful. I noticed thatRomer-boy no longer rode out far in front, nor did he chase squirrelswith Pups. He sagged, twisted and turned, and lolled in his saddle. Thereafter I tried to keep close to him. But that was not easy, forhe suspected me of seeing how tired he was, and kept away from me. Thereafter I took to spying upon him from some distance behind. Wetrotted and walked, trotted and walked the long miles. Arizona mileswere twice as long as ordinary properly measured miles. An event ofthe afternoon was to meet some Mexican sheepherders, driving a flocksouth. Nielsen got some fresh mutton from them. Toward sunset I caughtRomer hanging over his saddle. Then I rode up to him. "Son, are youtired?" I asked. "Oh, Dad, I sure am, but I'm going to ride Rye toMormon Lake. " I believed he would accomplish it. His saddle slipped, letting him down. I saw him fall. When he made no effort to get up Iwas frightened. Rye stood perfectly still over him. I leaped off andran to the lad. He had hit his head on a stone, drawing the blood, andappeared to be stunned. I lifted him, holding him up, while somebodygot some water. We bathed his face and washed off the blood. Presentlyhe revived, and smiled at me, and staggered out of my hold. 

"Helluva note that saddle slipped!" he complained. Manifestly he hadacquired some of Joe Isbel's strong language. Possibly he might haveacquired some other of the cowboy's traits, for he asked to have hissaddle straightened and to be put on his horse. I had misgivings, butI could not resist him then. I lifted him upon Rye. Once more ourcavalcade got under way. 

Sunset, twilight, night came as we trotted on and on. We faced a coldwind. The forest was black, gloomy, full of shadows. Lee gave us allwe could do to keep up with him. At eight o'clock, two hours afterdark, we reached the southern end of Mormon Lake. A gale, cold as ice, blew off the water from the north. Half a dozen huge pine trees stoodon the only level ground near at hand. "Nielsen, fire--pronto!" Iyelled. "Aye, sir, " he shouted, in his deep voice. Then what withhurry and bustle to get my bedding and packs, and to thresh mytingling fingers, and press my frozen ears, I was selfishly busy a fewminutes before I thought of Romer. 

Nielsen had started a fire, that blazed and roared with burning pineneedles. The blaze blew low, almost on a level with the ground, and astream of red sparks flew off into the woods. I was afraid of forestfire. But what a welcome sight that golden flame! It lighted up a widespace, showing the huge pines, gloom-encircled, and a pale glimmer ofthe lake beyond. The fragrance of burning pine greeted my nostrils. 

Dragging my bags I hurried toward the fire. Nielsen was building abarricade of rocks to block the flying sparks. Suddenly I espiedRomer. He sat on a log close to the blaze. His position struck me assingular, so I dropped my burdens and went to him. He had on a heavycoat over sweater and under coat, which made him resemble a little oldman. His sombrero was slouched down sidewise, his gloved hands werefolded across his knees, his body sagged a little to one side, hishead drooped. He was asleep. I got around so I could see his facein the firelight. Pale, weary, a little sad, very youthful and yetdetermined! A bloody bruise showed over his temple. He had said hewould ride all the way to Mormon Lake and he had done it. Never, neverwill that picture fade from my memory! Dear, brave, wild, little lad!He had made for me a magnificent success of this fruitless huntingtrip. I hoped and prayed then that when he grew to man's estate, andfaced the long rides down the hard roads of life, he would meet themand achieve them as he had the weary thirty-five Arizona miles fromLong Valley to Mormon Lake. 

[Illustration: SKUNK, A FREQUENT AND RATHER DANGEROUS VISITOR IN CAMP]

[Illustration: ON THE RIM]

[Illustration: WHERE ELK, DEER, AND TURKEY DRINK]

Mutton tasted good that night around our camp-fire; and Romer ate agenerous portion. A ranger from the station near there visited us, andtwo young ranchers, who told us that the influenza epidemic was waning. This was news to be thankful for. Moreover, I hired the two ranchers tohurry us by auto to Flagstaff on the morrow. So right there at MormonLake ended our privations. 

Under one of the huge pines I scraped up a pile of needles, madeRomer's bed in it, heated a blanket and wrapped him in it. Almost hewas asleep when he said: "Some ride, Dad--Good-night. "

Later, beside him, I lay awake a while, watching the sparks fly, andthe shadows flit, feeling the cold wind on my face, listening to thecrackle of the fire and the roar of the gale. 

IV

Eventually R. C. And Romer and I arrived in Los Angeles to find allwell with our people, which fact was indeed something to rejoice over. Hardly had this 1918 trip ended before I began to plan for that of1919. But I did not realize how much in earnest I was until I receivedword that both Lee Doyle in Flagstaff and Nielsen in San Pedro werevery ill with influenza. Lee all but died, and Nielsen, afterward, told me he would rather die than have the "flu" again. To my greatrelief, however, they recovered. 

From that time then it pleased me to begin to plan for my 1919 huntingtrip. I can never do anything reasonably. I always overdo everything. But what happiness I derive from anticipation! When I am not workingI live in dreams, partly of the past, but mostly of the future. A manshould live only in the present. 

I gave Lee instructions to go about in his own way buying teams, saddle horses, and wagons. For Christmas I sent him a . 35 Remingtonrifle. Mr. Haught got instructions to add some new dogs to his pack. Isent Edd also a . 35 Remington, and made Nielsen presents of two guns. In January Nielsen and I went to Picacho, on the lower Colorado river, and then north to Death Valley. So that I kept in touch with these menand did not allow their enthusiasm to wane. For myself and R. C. I hadthe fun of ordering tents and woolen blankets, and everything that wedid not have on our 1918 trip. But owing to the war it was difficultto obtain goods of any description. To make sure of getting a . 30Gov't Winchester I ordered from four different firms, including theWinchester Co. None of them had such a rifle in stock, but all wouldtry to find one. The upshot of this deal was that, when after months Idespaired of getting any, they all sent me a rifle at the same time. So I found myself with four, all the same caliber of course, but ofdifferent style and finish. When I saw them and thought of theHaughts I had to laugh. One was beautifully engraved, and inlaid withgold--the most elaborate . 30 Gov't the Winchester people had everbuilt. Another was a walnut-stocked, shot-gun butted, fancy checkeredtake-down. This one I presented to R. C. The third was a plain ordinaryrifle with solid frame. And the last was a carbine model, which I gaveto Nielsen. 

During the summer at Avalon I used to take the solid frame rifle, andclimb the hills to practice on targets. At Clemente Island I used toshoot at the ravens. I had a grudge against ravens there for pickingthe eyes out of newly born lambs. At five hundred yards a raven was indanger from me. I could make one jump at even a thousand yards. These. 30 Gov't 1906 rifles with 150-grain bullet are the most wonderfulshooting arms I ever tried. I became expert at inanimate targets. 

From time to time I heard encouraging news from Lee about horses. Eddwrote me about lion tracks in the snow, and lynx up cedar trees, andgobblers four feet high, and that there was sure to be a good cropof acorns, and therefore some bears. He told me about a big grizzlycow-killer being chased and shot in Chevelon Canyon. News abouthounds, however, was slow in coming. Dogs were difficult to find. At length Haught wrote me that he had secured two; and in this sameletter he said the boys were cutting trails down under the rim. 

Everything pertaining to my cherished plans appeared to be turningout well. But during this time I spent five months at hard work andintense emotional strain, writing the longest novel I ever attempted;and I over-taxed my endurance. By the middle of June, when I finished, I was tired out. That would not have mattered if I had not hurt myback in an eleven-hour fight with a giant broadbill swordfish. Thisstrain kept me from getting in my usual physical trim. I could notclimb the hills, or exert myself. Swimming hurt me more than anything. So I had to be careful and wait until my back slowly got better. BySeptember it had improved, but not enough to make me feel any thrillsover horseback riding. It seemed to me that I would be compelled togo ahead and actually work the pain out of my back, an ordeal throughwhich I had passed before, and surely dreaded. 

During the summer I had purchased a famous chestnut sorrel horse namedDon Carlos. He was much in demand among the motion-picture companiesdoing western plays; and was really too fine and splendid a horse tobe put to the risks common to the movies. I saw him first at PalmSprings, down in southern California, where my book _Desert Gold_ wasbeing made into a motion-picture. Don would not have failed to strikeany one as being a wonderful horse. He was tremendously high and rangyand powerful in build, yet graceful withal, a sleek, shiny chestnutred in color, with fine legs, broad chest, and a magnificent head. Irode him only once before I bought him, and that was before I hurt myback. His stride was what one would expect from sight of him; his trotseemed to tear me to pieces; his spirit was such that he wanted toprance all the time. But in spite of his spirit he was a pet. Andhow he could run! Nielsen took Don to Flagstaff by express. And whenNielsen wrote me he said all of Flagstaff came down to the station tosee the famous Don Carlos. The car in which he had traveled was backedalongside a platform. Don refused to step on the boards they placedfrom platform to car. He did not trust them. Don's intelligence hadbeen sharpened by his experience with the movies. Nielsen tried tolead, to coax, and to drive Don to step on the board walk. Don wouldnot go. But suddenly he snorted, and jumped the space clear, to plungeand pound down upon the platform, scattering the crowd like quail. 

The day before my departure from Los Angeles was almost as terrible anordeal as I anticipated would be my first day's ride on Don Carlos. And this ordeal consisted of listening to Romer's passionate appealsand importunities to let him go on the hunt. My only defence was thathe must not be taken from school. School forsooth! He was way ahead ofhis class. If he got behind he could make it up. I talked and argued. Once he lost his temper, a rare thing with him, and said he would runaway from school, ride on a freight train to Flagstaff, steal a horseand track me to my camp. I could not say very much in reply to thisthreat, because I remembered that I had made worse to my father, andcarried it out. I had to talk sense to Romer. Often we had spoken ofa wonderful hunt in Africa some day, when he was old enough; and Ihappened upon a good argument. I said: "You'll miss a year out ofschool then. It won't be so very long. Don't you think you ought tostay in school faithfully now?" So in the end I got away from him, victorious, though not wholly happy. The truth was I wanted him to go. 

My Jap cook Takahashi met me in Flagstaff. He was a very short, verybroad, very muscular little fellow with a brown, strong face, morepleasant than usually seen in Orientals. Secretly I had made sure thatin Takahashi I had discovered a treasure, but I was careful to concealthis conviction from R. C. , the Doyles, and Nielsen. They were glad tosee him with us, but they manifestly did not expect wonders. 

How brief the span of a year! Here I was in Flagstaff again outfittingfor another hunt. It seemed incredible. It revived that old hauntingthought about the shortness of life. But in spite of that or perhapsmore because of it the pleasure was all the keener. In truth the onlydrawback to this start was the absence of Romer, and my poor physicalcondition. R. C. Appeared to be in fine fettle. 

But I was not well. In the mornings I could scarcely arise, and whenI did so I could hardly straighten myself. More than once I grewdoubtful of my strength to undertake such a hard trip. This doubt Ifought fiercely, for I knew that the right thing for me to do wasto go--to stand the pain and hardship--to toil along until my oldstrength and elasticity returned. What an opportunity to try out myfavorite theory! For I believed that labor and pain were good formankind--that strenuous life in the open would cure any bodily ill. 

On September fourteenth Edd and George drifted into Flagstaff to joinus, and their report of game and water and grass and acorns was sofavorable that I would have gone if I had been unable to ride onanything but a wagon. 

We got away on September fifteenth at two-thirty o'clock with such anoutfit as I had never had in all my many trips put together. We had astring of saddle horses besides those the men rode. They were surely aspirited bunch; and that first day it was indeed a job to keep them withus. Out of sheer defiance with myself I started on Don Carlos. He was notrouble, except that it took all my strength to hold him in. He tossedhis head, champed his bit, and pranced sideways along the streets ofFlagstaff, manifestly to show off his brand new black Mexican saddle, with silver trappings and tapaderos. I was sure that he did not do thatto show me off. But Don liked to dance and prance along before a crowd, a habit that he had acquired with the motion pictures. 

Lee and Nielsen and George had their difficulties driving the freehorses. Takahashi rode a little buckskin Navajo mustang. An evidence ofhow extremely short the Jap's legs were made itself plain in the factthat stirrups could not be fixed so he could reach them with his feet. When he used any support at all he stuck his feet through the strapsabove the stirrups. How funny his squat, broad figure looked in asaddle! Evidently he was not accustomed to horses. When I saw themustang roll the white of his eyes and glance back at Takahashi then Iknew something would happen sooner or later. 

Nineteen miles on Don Carlos reduced me to a miserable aching specimenof manhood. But what made me endure and go on and finish to camp was thestrange fact that the longer I rode the less my back pained. Other partsof my anatomy, however, grew sorer as we progressed. Don Carlos pleasedme immensely, only I feared he was too much horse for me. A Mormonfriend of mine, an Indian trader, looked Don over in Flagstaff, andpronounced him: "Shore one grand hoss!" This man had broken many wildhorses, and his compliment pleased me. All the same the nineteen mileson Don hurt my vanity almost as much as my body. 

We camped in a cedar pasture off the main road. This road was a new onefor us to take to our hunting grounds. I was too bunged up to helpNielsen pitch our tent. In fact when I sat down I was anchored. Still Icould use my eyes, and that made life worth living. Sunset was agorgeous spectacle. The San Francisco Peaks were shrouded in purplestorm-clouds, and the west was all gold and silver, with low cloudsrimmed in red. This sunset ended in a great flare of dull magenta with abackground of purple. 

That evening was the try-out of our new chuck-box and chef. I hadsupplied the men with their own outfit and supplies, to do with as theyliked, an arrangement I found to be most satisfactory. Takahashi was totake care of R. C. And me. In less than half an hour from the time theJap lighted a fire he served the best supper I ever had in campanywhere. R. C. Lauded him to the skies. And I began to think I couldunburden myself of my conviction. 

I did not awaken to the old zest and thrill of the open. Something waswrong with me. The sunset, the camp-fire, the dark clear night with itstrains of stars, the distant yelp of coyotes--these seemed less to methan what I had hoped for. My feelings were locked round my discomfortand pain. 

About noon next day we rode out of the cedars into the open desert--arolling, level land covered with fine grass, and yellow daisies, Indianpaint brush, and a golden flowering weed. This luxuriance attested tothe copious and recent rains. They had been a boon to dry Arizona. Nosage showed or greasewood, and very few rocks. The sun burned hot. Igazed out at the desert, and the cloud pageant in the sky, trying hardto forget myself, and to see what I knew was there for me. Rollingcolumnar white and cream clouds, majestic and beautiful, formed stormsoff on the horizon. Sunset on the open desert that afternoon wassingularly characteristic of Arizona--purple and gold and red, with longlanes of blue between the colored cloud banks. 

We made camp at Meteor Crater, one of the many wonders of thiswonderland. It was a huge hole in the earth over five hundred feet deep, said to have been made by a meteor burying itself there. Seen from theoutside the slope was gradual up to the edges, which were scalloped andirregular; on the inside the walls were precipitous. Our camp was on thewindy desert, a long sweeping range of grass, sloping down, dotted withcattle, with buttes and mountains in the distance. Most of my sensationsof the day partook of the nature of woe. 

September seventeenth bade fair to be my worst day--at least I did notsee how any other could ever be so bad. Glaring hot sun--reflected heatfrom I the bare road--dust and sand and wind! Particularly hard on mewere what the Arizonians called dust-devils, whirlwinds of sand. On andoff I walked a good many miles, the latter of which I hobbled. DonCarlos did not know what to make of this. He eyed me, and nosed me, andtossed his head as if to say I was a strange rider for him. Like mymustang, Night, he would not stand to be mounted. When I touched thestirrup that was a signal to go. He had been trained to it. As he wasnearly seventeen hands high, and as I could not get my foot in thestirrup from level ground, to mount him in my condition seemed littleless than terrible. I always held back out of sight when I attemptedthis. Many times I failed. Once I fell flat and lay a moment in thedust. Don Carlos looked down upon me in a way I imagined wassympathetic. At least he bent his noble head and smelled at me. Iscrambled to my feet, led him round into a low place, and drawing a deepbreath, and nerving myself to endure the pain like a stab, I got intothe saddle again. 

Two things sustained me in this ordeal, which was the crudest horsebackride I ever had--first, the conviction that I could cure my ills byenduring the agony of violent action, of hot sun, of hard bed; andsecondly, the knowledge that after it was all over the remembrance ofhardship and achievement would be singularly sweet. So it had been inthe case of the five days on the old Crook road in 1918, when extremeworry and tremendous exertion had made the hours hideous. So it had beenwith other arduous and poignant experiences. A poet said that the crownof sorrow was in remembering happier times: I believed that there was agreat deal of happiness in remembering times of stress, of despair, ofextreme and hazardous effort. Anyway, without these two feelings in mymind I would have given up riding Don Carlos that day, and haveabandoned the trip. 

We covered twenty-two miles by sundown, a rather poor day's showing; andcamped on the bare flat desert, using water and wood we had packed withus. The last thing I remembered, as my eyes closed heavily, was what ablessing it was to rest and to sleep. 

Next day we sheered off to the southward, heading toward Chevelon Butte, a black cedared mountain, rising lone out of the desert, thirty milesaway. We crossed two streams bank full of water, a circumstance I neverbefore saw in Arizona. Everywhere too the grass was high. We climbedgradually all day, everybody sunburned and weary, the horses settlingdown to save themselves; and we camped high up on the desert plateau, six thousand feet above sea level, where it was windy, cool, andfragrant with sage and cedar. Except the first few, the hours of thisday each marked a little less torture for me; but at that I fell offDon Carlos when we halted. And I was not able to do my share of the campwork. R. C. Was not as spry and chipper as I had seen him, a fact fromwhich I gathered infinite consolation. Misery loves company. 

A storm threatened. All the west was purple under on-coming purpleclouds. At sight of this something strange and subtle, yet familiar, revived in me. It made me feel a little more like the self I thought Iknew. So I watched the lightning flare and string along the horizon. Some time in the night thunder awakened me. The imminence of a severestorm forced us to roll out and look after the tent. What a pitch blacknight! Down through the murky, weird blackness shot a wonderful zigzagrope of lightning, blue-white, dazzling; and it disintegrated, leavingsegments of fire in the air. All this showed in a swift flash--then wewere absolutely blind. I could not see for several moments. It rained alittle. Only the edge of the storm touched us. Thunder rolled and boomedalong the battlements, deep and rumbling and detonating. 

No dust or heat next morning! The desert floor appeared clean and damp, with fresh gray sage and shining bunches of cedar. We climbed into thehigh cedars, and then to the piņons, and then to the junipers and pines. Climbing so out of desert to forestland was a gradual and accumulatingjoy to me. What contrast in vegetation, in air, in color! Still theforest consisted of small trees. Not until next day did we climb fartherto the deepening, darkening forest, and at last to the silver spruce. That camp, the fifth night out, was beside a lake of surface water, where we had our first big camp-fire. 

September twenty-first and ten miles from Beaver Dam Canyon, where ayear before I had planned to meet Haught this day and date at noon! Icould make that appointment, saddle-sore and weary as I was, but Idoubted we could get the wagons there. The forest ground was soft. Allthe little swales were full of water. How pleasant, how welcome, howbeautiful and lonely the wild forestland! We made advance slowly. It wasafternoon by the time we reached the rim road, and four o'clock when wehalted at the exact spot where we had left our wagon the year before. 

Lee determined to drive the wagons down over the rocky benches intoBeaver Dam Canyon; and to that end he and the men began to cut pines, drag logs, and roll stones. 

R. C. And I rode down through the forest, crossing half a dozen swiftlittle streams of amber water, where a year before all had been dry astinder. We found Haught's camp in a grove of yellowing aspens. Haughtwas there to meet us. He had not changed any more than the rugged pinetree under which a year past we had made our agreement. He wore the sameblue shirt and the old black sombrero. 

"Hello Haught, " was my greeting, as I dismounted and pulled out mywatch. "I'm four hours and a quarter late. Sorry. I could have made it, but didn't want to leave the wagons. "

"Wal, wal, I shore am glad to see you, " he replied, with a keen flash inhis hazel eyes and a smile on his craggy face. "I reckoned you'd makeit. How are you? Look sort of fagged. "

"Just about all in, Haught, " I replied, as we shook hands. 

Then Copple appeared, swaggering out of the aspens. He was the man I metin Payson and who so kindly had made me take his rifle. I had engagedhim also for this hunt. A brawny man he was, with powerful shoulders, swarthy-skinned, and dark-eyed, looking indeed the Indian blood heclaimed. 

"Wouldn't have recognized you anywhere's else, " he said. 

These keen-eyed outdoor men at a glance saw the havoc work and pain hadplayed with me. They were solicitous, and when I explained my conditionthey made light of that, and showed relief that I was not ill. "Saw woodan' rustle around, " said Haught. And Copple said: "He needs venison an'bear meat. "

They rode back with us up to the wagons. Copple had been a freighter. Hepicked out a way to drive down into the canyon. So rough and steep itwas that I did not believe driving down would be possible. But with axesand pick and shovel, and a heaving of rocks, they worked a road that Leedrove down. Some places were almost straight down. But the ground wassoft, hoofs and wheels sank deeply, and though one wagon lurched almostover, and the heavily laden chuck-wagon almost hurdled the team, Leemade the bad places without accident. Two hours after our arrival, suchwas the labor of many strong hands, we reached our old camp ground. Onething was certain, however, and that was we would never get back up theway we came down. 

Except for a luxuriance of grass and ferns, and two babbling streams ofwater, our old camp ground had not changed. I sat down with mingledemotions. How familiarly beautiful and lonely this canyon glade! Thegreat pines and spruces looked down upon me with a benediction. Howserene, passionless, strong they seemed! It was only men who changed inbrief time. The long year of worry and dread and toil and pain hadpassed. It was nothing. On the soft, fragrant, pine-scented breeze camea whispering of welcome from the forestland: "You are here again. Livenow--in the present. "

Takahashi beamed upon me: "More better place to camp, " he said, grinning. Already the Jap had won my admiration and liking. His abilityexcited my interest, and I wanted to know more about him. As to thiscamp-site being a joy compared to the ones stretched back along the roadhe was assuredly right. That night we did no more than eat and unrollour beds. But next day there set in the pleasant tasks of unpacking, putting up tents and flies, cutting spruce for thick, soft beds, and ahundred odd jobs dear to every camper. Takahashi would not have any onehelp him. He dug a wide space for fires, erected a stone windbreak, andmade two ovens out of baked mud, the like of which, and the clevernessof which I had never seen. He was a whirlwind for work. 

The matter of firewood always concerned Nielsen and me more than anyone. Nielsen was a Norwegian, raised as a boy to use a crosscut saw; andas for me I was a connoisseur in camp-fires and a lover of them. Hencewe had brought a crosscut saw--a long one with two handles. I rememberedfrom the former year a huge dead pine that had towered bleached andwhite at the edge of the glade. It stood there still. The storms andblasts of another winter had not changed it in the least. It was fivefeet thick at the base and solid. Nielsen chopped a notch in it on thelower side, and then he and Edd began to saw into it on the other. I sawthe first tremor of the lofty top. Then soon it shivered all the waydown, gave forth a loud crack, swayed slowly, and fell majestically, tostrike with a thundering crash. Only the top of this pine broke in thefall, but there were splinters and knots and branches enough to fill awagon. These we carried up to our camp-fire. 

Then the boys sawed off half a dozen four-foot sections, which servedas fine, solid, flat tables for comfort around camp. The method of usinga crosscut saw was for two men to take a stand opposite one another, with the log between. The handles of the saw stood upright. Each manshould pull easily and steadily toward himself, but should not push backnor bear down. It looked a rhythmic, manly exercise, and not arduous. But what an illusion! Nielsen and Copple were the only ones that day whocould saw wholly through the thick log without resting. Later Takahashiturned out to be as good, if not better, than either of them, but we hadthat, as well as many other wonderful facts, to learn about the Jap. 

"Come on, " said R. C. To me, invitingly. "You've been talking about thiscrosscut saw game. I'll bet you find it harder than pulling on aswordfish. "

Pride goes before a fall! I knew that in my condition I could do littlewith the saw, but I had to try. R. C. Was still fresh when I had to rest. Perhaps no one except myself realized the weakness of my back, but thetruth was a couple of dozen pulls on that saw almost made me collapse. Wherefore I grew furious with myself and swore I would do it or die. Isawed till I fell over--then I rested and went back at it. Half an hourof this kind of exercise gave me a stab in my left side infinitelysharper than the pain in my back. Also it made me wringing wet, hot asfire, and as breathless as if I had run a mile up hill. That experiencedetermined me to stick to crosscut sawing every day. Next morning Iapproached it with enthusiasm, yet with misgivings. I could not keep mybreath. Pain I could and did bear without letting on. But to have tostop was humiliating. If I tried to keep up with the sturdy Haught boys, or with the brawny Copple or the giant Nielsen, soon I would becompelled to keel over. In the sawing through a four-foot section of logI had to rest eight times. They all had a great deal of fun out of it, and I pretended to be good natured, but to me who had always been sovigorous and active and enduring it was not fun. It was tragic. But allwas not gloom for me. This very afternoon Nielsen, the giant, showedthat a stiff climb out of the canyon, at that eight thousand feetaltitude, completely floored him. Yet I accomplished that withcomparative ease. I could climb, which seemed proof that I was gaining. A man becomes used to certain labors and exercises. I thought thecrosscut saw a wonderful tool to train a man, but it must require time. It harked back to pioneer days when men were men. Nielsen said he hadlived among Mexican boys who sawed logs for nineteen cents apiece andearned seven dollars a day. Copple said three minutes was good time tosaw a four-foot log in two pieces. So much for physical condition! Asfor firewood, for which our crosscut saw was intended, pitch pine andyellow pine and spruce were all odorous and inflammable woods, but theydid not make good firewood. Dead aspen was good; dead oak the best. Itburned to red hot coals with little smoke. As for camp-fires, any kindof dry wood pleased, smoke or no smoke. In fact I loved the smell andcolor of wood-smoke, in spite of the fact that it made my eyes smart. 

By October first, which was the opening day of the hunting season, I hadlabored at various exercises until I felt fit to pack a rifle throughthe woods. R. C. And I went out alone on foot. Not by any means was theday auspicious. The sun tried to show through a steely haze, making onlya pale shift of sunshine. And the air was rather chilly. Enthusiasm, however, knew no deterrents. We walked a mile down Beaver Dam Canyon, then climbed the western slope. As long as the sun shone I knew thecountry fairly well, or rather my direction. We slipped along throughthe silent woods, satisfied with everything. Presently the sun brokethrough the clouds, and shone fitfully, making intervals of shadow, andothers of golden-green verdure. 

Along an edge of one of the grassy parks we came across fresh deertracks. Several deer had run out of the woods just ahead of us, evidently having winded us. One track was that of a big buck. We trailedthese tracks across the park, then made a detour in hopes of heading thedeer off, but failed. A huge, dark cloud scudded out of the west and letdown a shower of fine rain. We kept dry under a spreading spruce. Theforest then was gloomy and cool with only a faint moan of wind andpattering of raindrops to break the silence. The cloud passed by, thesun shone again, the forest glittered in its dress of diamonds. Therehad been but little frost, so that aspen and maple thickets had not yettaken on their cloth of gold and blaze of red. Most of the leaves werestill on the trees, making these thickets impossible to see into. Wehunted along the edges of these, and across the wide, open ridge fromcanyon to canyon, and saw nothing but old tracks. Black and white cloudsrolled up and brought a squall. We took to another spruce tent forshelter. After this squall the sky became obscured by a field of graycloud through which the sun shone dimly. This matter worried me. I wasaware of my direction then, but if I lost the sun I would soon be indifficulties. 

Gradually we worked back along the ridge toward camp, and headed severalravines that ran and widened down into the big canyon. All at once R. C. Held up a warning finger. "Listen!" With abatement of breath I listened, but heard nothing except the mournful sough of the pines. "Thought Iheard a whistle, " he said. We went on, all eyes and ears. 

R. C. And I flattered ourselves that together we made rather a goodhunting team. We were fairly well versed in woodcraft and could slipalong stealthily. I possessed an Indian sense of direction that hadnever yet failed me. To be sure we had much to learn about deerstalking. But I had never hunted with any man whose ears were as quickas R. C. 's. A naturally keen hearing, and many years of still hunting, accounted for this faculty. As for myself, the one gift of which I wasespecially proud was my eyesight. Almost invariably I could see game inthe woods before any one who was with me. This had applied to all myguides except Indians. And I believed that five summers on the Pacific, searching the wide expanse of ocean for swordfish fins, had made my eyesall the keener for the woods. R. C. And I played at a game in which hetried to hear the movement of some forest denizen before I saw it. Thisfun for us dated back to boyhood days. 

Suddenly R. C. Stopped short, with his head turning to one side, and hisbody stiffening. "I heard that whistle again, " he said. We stoodperfectly motionless for a long moment. Then from far off in the forestI heard a high, clear, melodious, bugling note. How thrilling, howlonely a sound!

"It's a bull-elk, " I replied. Then we sat down upon a log and listened. R. C. Had heard that whistle in Colorado, but had not recognized it. Justas the mournful howl of a wolf is the wildest, most haunting sound ofthe wilderness, so is the bugle of the elk the noblest, most melodiousand thrilling. With tingling nerves and strained ears we listened. Weheard elk bugling in different directions, hard to locate. One bullappeared to be low down, another high up, another working away. R. C. AndI decided to stalk them. The law prohibited the killing of elk, but thatwas no reason why we might not trail them, and have the sport of seeingthem in their native haunts. So we stole softly through the woods, halting now and then to listen, pleased to note that every whistle weheard appeared to be closer. 

At last, apparently only a deep thicketed ravine separated us from theridge upon which the elk were bugling. Here our stalk began to becomereally exciting. We did not make any noise threading that wet thicket, and we ascended the opposite slope very cautiously. What little windthere was blew from the elk toward us, so they could not scent us. Onceup on the edge of the ridge we halted to listen. After a long time weheard a far-away bugle, then another at least half a mile distant. Hadwe miscalculated? R. C. Was for working down the ridge and I was forwaiting there a few moments. So we sat down again. The forest was almostsilent now. Somewhere a squirrel was barking. The sun peeped out of thepale clouds, lighted the glades, rimmed the pines in brightness. Iopened my lips to speak to R. C. When I was rendered mute by a piercingwhistle, high-pitched and sweet and melodiously prolonged. It made myears tingle and my blood dance. "Right close, " whispered R. C. "Come on. "We began to steal through the forest, keeping behind trees and thickets, peeping out, and making no more sound than shadows. The ground was damp, facilitating our noiseless stalk. In this way we became separated byabout thirty steps, but we walked on and halted in unison. Passingthrough a thicket of little pines we came into an open forest full ofglades. Keenly I peered everywhere, as I slipped from tree to tree. Finally we stooped along for a space, and then, at a bugle blast soclose that it made me jump, I began to crawl. My objective point was afallen pine the trunk of which appeared high enough to conceal me. R. C. Kept working a little farther to the right. Once he beckoned me, but Ikept on. Still I saw him drop down to crawl. Our stalk was gettingtoward its climax. My state was one of quivering intensity of thrill, ofexcitement, of pleasure. Reaching my log I peeped over it. I saw acow-elk and a yearling calf trotting across a glade about a hundredyards distant. Wanting R. C. To see them I looked his way, and pointed. But he was pointing also and vehemently beckoning for me to join him. Iran on all fours over to where he knelt. He whispered pantingly:"Grandest sight--ever saw!" I peeped out. 

In a glade not seventy-five yards away stood a magnificent bull elk, looking back over his shoulder. His tawny hind-quarters, then his darkbrown, almost black shaggy shoulders and head, then his enormous spreadof antlers, like the top of a dead cedar--these in turn fascinated mygaze. How graceful, stately, lordly!

R. C. Stepped out from behind the pine in full view. I crawled out, tooka kneeling position, and drew a bead on the elk. I had the fun ofimagining I could have hit him anywhere. I did not really want to killhim, yet what was the meaning of the sharp, hot gush of my blood, thefiery thrill along my nerves, the feeling of unsatisfied wildness? Thebull eyed us for a second, then laid his forest of antlers back over hisshoulders, and with singularly swift, level stride, sped like a tawnyflash into the green forest. 

R. C. And I began to chatter like boys, and to walk toward the glade, without any particular object in mind, when my roving eye caught sightof a moving brown and checkered patch low down on the ground, vanishingbehind a thicket. I called R. C. And ran. I got to where I could seebeyond the thicket. An immense flock of turkeys! I yelled. As I tried toget a bead on a running turkey R. C. Joined me. "Chase 'em!" he yelled. So we dashed through the forest with the turkeys running ahead of us. Never did they come out clear in the open. I halted to shoot, but justas I was about to press the trigger, my moving target vanished. Thishappened again. No use to shoot at random! I had a third fleetingchance, but absolutely could not grasp it. Then the big flock of turkeyseluded us in an impenetrable, brushy ravine. 

"By George!" exclaimed R. C. "Can you beat that? They run like streaks. Icouldn't aim. These wild turkeys are great. "

I echoed his sentiments. We prowled around for an hour trying to locatethis flock again, but all in vain. "Well, " said R. C. Finally, as hewiped his perspiring face, "it's good to see some game anyhow. .. . Whereare we?"

It developed that our whereabouts was a mystery to me. The sun hadbecome completely obliterated, a fine rain was falling, the forest hadgrown wet and dismal. We had gotten turned around. The matter did notlook serious, however, until we had wandered around for another hourwithout finding anything familiar. Then we realized we were lost. Thissort of experience had happened to R. C. And me often; nevertheless wedid not relish it, especially the first day out. As usual on suchoccasions R. C. Argued with me about direction, and then left theresponsibility with me. I found an open spot, somewhat sheltered on oneside from the misty rain, and there I stationed myself to study treesand sky and clouds for some clue to help me decide what was north orwest. After a while I had the good fortune to see a momentarybrightening through the clouds. I located the sun, and was pleased todiscover that the instinct of direction I had been subtly prompted totake, would have helped me as much as the sun. 

We faced east and walked fast, and I took note of trees ahead so thatwe should not get off a straight line. At last we came to a deep canyon. In the gray misty rain I could not be sure I recognized it. "Well, R. C. , " I said, "this may be our canyon, and it may not. But to make surewe'll follow it up to the rim. Then we can locate camp. " R. C. Repliedwith weary disdain. "All right, my redskin brother, lead me to camp. AsLoren says, I'm starved to death. " Loren is my three-year-old boy, whobids fair to be like his brother Romer. He has an enormous appetite andbefore meal times he complains bitterly: "I'm starv-ved to death!" Howstrange to remember him while I was lost in the forest!

When we had descended into the canyon rain was falling more heavily. Wewere in for it. But I determined we would not be kept out all night. SoI struck forward with long stride. 

In half an hour we came to where the canyon forked. I deliberated amoment. Not one familiar landmark could I descry, from which fact Idecided we had better take to the left-hand fork. Grass and leavesappeared almost as wet as running water. Soon we were soaked to theskin. After two miles the canyon narrowed and thickened, so thattraveling grew more and more laborsome. It must have been four milesfrom its mouth to where it headed up near the rim. Once out of it wefound ourselves on familiar ground, about five miles from camp. Exhausted and wet and nearly frozen we reached camp just before dark. IfI had taken the right-hand fork of the canyon, which was really BeaverDam Canyon, we would have gotten back to camp in short order. R. C. Saidto the boys: "Well, Doc dragged me nine miles out of our way. " Everybodybut the Jap enjoyed my discomfiture. Takahashi said in his imperfectEnglish: "Go get on more better dry clothes. Soon hot supper. Maybe goodyes!"

V

It rained the following day, making a good excuse to stay in camp andrest beside the little tent-stove. And the next morning I started out onfoot with Copple. We went down Beaver Dam Canyon intending to go up onthe ridge where R. C. And I had seen the flock of turkeys. 

I considered Copple an addition to my long list of outdoor acquaintancesin the west, and believed him a worthy partner for Nielsen. Copple wasborn near Oak Creek, some twenty miles south of Flagstaff, and wasone-fourth Indian. He had a good education. His whole life had been inthe open, which fact I did not need to be told. A cowboy when only a boyhe had also been sheepherder, miner, freighter, and everythingArizonian. Eighteen years he had hunted game and prospected for gold inMexico. He had been a sailor and fireman on the Pacific, he had servedin the army in the Philippines. Altogether his had been an adventurouslife; and as Doyle had been a mine of memories for me so would Copple bea mine of information. Such men have taught me the wonder, the violence, the truth of the west. 

Copple was inclined to be loquacious--a trait that ordinarily was ratherdistasteful to me, but in his case would be an advantage. On our waydown the canyon not only did he give me an outline of the history of hislife, but he talked about how he had foretold the storm just ended. Thefresh diggings of gophers--little mounds of dirt thrown up--hadindicated the approach of the storm; so had the hooting of owls;likewise the twittering of snowbirds at that season; also the feeding ofblackbirds near horses. Particularly a wind from the south meant storm. From that he passed to a discussion of deer. During the light of themoon deer feed at night; and in the day time they will lie in a thicket. If a hunter came near the deer would lower their horns flat and remainmotionless, unless almost ridden over. In the dark of the moon deer feedat early morning, lie down during the day, and feed again toward sunset, always alert, trusting to nose more than eyes and ears. 

Copple was so interesting that I must have passed the place where R. C. And I had come down into the canyon; at any rate I missed it, and wewent on farther. Copple showed me old bear sign, an old wolf track, andthen fresh turkey tracks. The latter reminded me that we were outhunting. I could carry a deadly rifle in my hands, yet dream dreams offlower-decked Elysian fields. We climbed a wooded bench or low step ofthe canyon slope, and though Copple and I were side by side I saw twoturkeys before he did. They were running swiftly up hill. I took a snapshot at the lower one, but missed. My bullet struck low, upsetting him. Both of them disappeared. 

Then we climbed to the top of the ridge, and in scouting around alongthe heavily timbered edges we came to a ravine deep enough to be classedas a canyon. Here the forest was dark and still, with sunlight showingdown in rays and gleams. While hunting I always liked to sit down hereand there to listen and watch. Copple liked this too. So we sat down. Opposite us the rocky edge of the other slope was about two hundredyards. We listened to jays and squirrels. I made note of the significantfact that as soon as we began to hunt Copple became silent. 

Presently my roving eye caught sight of a moving object. It is movementthat always attracts my eye in the woods. I saw a plump, woolly beastwalk out upon the edge of the opposite slope and stand in the shade. 

"Copple, is that a sheep?" I whispered, pointing. "Lion--no, big lynx, "he replied. I aimed and shot just a little too swiftly. Judging by thepuff of dust my bullet barely missed the big cat. He leaped fullyfifteen feet. Copple fired, hitting right under his nose as he alighted. That whirled him back. He bounced like a rubber ball. My second shotwent over him, and Copple's hit between his legs. Then with anotherprodigious bound he disappeared in a thicket. "By golly! we missed him, "declared Copple. "But you must have shaved him that first time. Biggestlynx I ever saw. "

We crossed the canyon and hunted for him, but without success. Then weclimbed an open grassy forest slope, up to a level ridge, and crossedthat to see down into a beautiful valley, with stately isolated pines, and patches of aspens, and floor of luxuriant grass. A ravine led downinto this long park and the mouth of it held a thicket of small pines. Just as we got half way out I saw bobbing black objects above the highgrass. I peered sharply. These objects were turkey heads. I got a shotbefore Copple saw them. There was a bouncing, a whirring, athumping--and then turkeys appeared to be running every way. 

Copple fired. "Turkey number one!" he called out. I missed a big gobbleron the run. Copple shot again. "Turkey number two!" he called out. Icould not see what he had done, but of course I knew he had doneexecution. It roused my ire as well as a desperate ambition. Turkeyswere running up hill everywhere. I aimed at this one, then at that. Again I fired. Another miss! How that gobbler ran! He might just as wellhave flown. Every turkey contrived to get a tree or bush between him andme, just at the critical instant. In despair I tried to hold on the lastone, got a bead on it through my peep sight, moved it with him as wemoved, and holding tight, I fired. With a great flop and scattering ofbronze feathers he went down. I ran up the slope and secured him, afine gobbler of about fifteen pounds weight. 

Upon my return to Copple I found he had collected his two turkeys, bothshot in the neck in the same place. He said: "If you hit them in thebody you spoil them for cooking. I used to hit all mine in the head. Letme give you a hunch. Always pick out a turkey running straight away fromyou or straight toward you. Never crossways. You can't hit them runningto the side. "

Then he bluntly complimented me upon my eyesight. That at least wasconsolation for my poor shooting. We rested there, and after a whileheard a turkey cluck. Copple had no turkey-caller, but he cluckedanyhow. We heard answers. The flock evidently was trying to get togetheragain, and some of them were approaching us. Copple continued to call. Then I appreciated how fascinating R. C. Had found this calling game. Copple got answers from all around, growing closer. But presently theanswers ceased. "They're on to me, " he whispered and did not call again. At that moment a young gobbler ran swiftly down the slope and stopped topeer around, his long neck stretching. It was not a very long shot, andI, scorning to do less than Copple, tried to emulate him, and aimed atthe neck of the gobbler. All I got, however, was a few feathers. Like agrouse he flew across the opening and was gone. We lingered there awhile, hoping to see or hear more of the flock, but did neither. Coppletried to teach me how to tell the age of turkeys from their feet, alesson I did not think I would assimilate in one hunting season. He tiedtheir legs together and hung them over his shoulder, a net weight ofabout fifty pounds. 

All the way up that valley we saw elk tracks, and once from over theridge I heard a bugle. On our return toward camp we followed a rathermeandering course, over ridge and down dale, and through grassy parksand stately forests, and along the slowly coloring maple-aspen thickets. Copple claimed to hear deer running, but I did not. Many tired footstepsI dragged along before we finally reached Beaver Dam Canyon. How welcomethe sight of camp! R. C. Had ridden miles with Edd, and had seen one deerthat they said was still enjoying his freedom in the woods. Takahashihailed sight of the turkeys with: "That fine! That fine! Nice fat ones!"

But tired as I was that night I still had enthusiasm enough to visitHaught's camp, and renew acquaintance with the hounds. Haught had notbeen able to secure more than two new hounds, and these named Rock andBuck were still unknown quantities. 

Old Dan remembered me, and my heart warmed to the old gladiator. He wasa very big, large-boned hound, gray with age and wrinkled and lame, andbleary-eyed. Dan was too old to be put on trails, or at least to be madechase bear. He loved a camp-fire, and would almost sit in the flames. This fact, and the way he would beg for a morsel to eat, had endearedhim to me. 

Old Tom was somewhat smaller and leaner than Dan, yet resembled himenough to deceive us at times. Tom was gray, too, and had crinkly ears, and many other honorable battle-scars. Tom was not quite so friendly asDan; in fact he had more dignity. Still neither hound was everdemonstrative except upon sight of his master. Haught told me that ifDan and Tom saw him shoot at a deer they would chase it till theydropped; accordingly he never shot at anything except bear and lion whenhe had these hounds with him. 

Sue was the best hound in the pack, as she still had, in spite of yearsof service, a good deal of speed and fight left in her. She was a slim, dark brown hound with fine and very long ears. Rock, one of the newhounds from Kentucky, was white and black, and had remarkably large, clear and beautiful eyes, almost human in expression. I could notaccount for the fact that I suspected Rock was a deer chaser. Buck, theother hound from Kentucky, was no longer young; he had a stump tail; hiscolor was a little yellow with dark spots, and he had a hang-dog headand distrustful eye. I made certain that Buck had never had any friends, for he did not understand kindness. Nor had he ever had enough to eat. He stayed away from the rest of the pack and growled fiercely when a pupcame near him. I tried to make friends with him, but found that I wouldnot have an easy task. 

Kaiser Bill was one of the pups, black in color, a long, lean, hungry-looking dog, and crazy. He had not grown any in a year, either inbody or intelligence. I remembered how he would yelp just to hearhimself and run any kind of a trail--how he would be the first to quitand come back. And if any one fired a gun near him he would run like ascared deer. 

To be fair to Kaiser Bill the other pups were not much better. Trailerand Big Foot were young still, and about all they could do was to runand howl. 

If, however, they got off right on a bear trail, and no other trailcrossed it they would stick, and in fact lead the pack till' the beargot away. Once Big Foot came whimpering into camp with porcupine quillsin his nose. Of all the whipped and funny pups!

Bobby was the dog I liked best. He was a curly black half-shepherd, small in size; and he had a sharp, intelligent face, with the brightesthazel eyes. His manner of wagging his tail seemed most comical yetconvincing. Bobby wagged only the nether end and that most emphatically. He would stand up to me, holding out his forepaws, and beg. What anappealing beggar he was! Bobby's value to Haught was notinconsiderable. He was the only dog Haught ever had that would herd thepigs. On a bear hunt Bobby lost his shepherd ways and his kindlydisposition, and yelped fiercely, and hung on a trail as long as any ofthe pack. He had no fear of a bear, for which reason Haught did not liketo run him. 

All told then we had a rather nondescript and poor pack of hounds; andthe fact discouraged me. I wanted to hunt the bad cinnamons and thegrizzly sheep-killers, with which this rim-rock country was infested. Ihad nothing against the acorn-eating brown or black bears. And with thispack of hounds I doubted that we could hold one of the vicious fightingspecies. But there was now nothing to do but try. No one could tell. Wemight kill a big grizzly. And the fact that the chances were against usperhaps made for more determined effort. I regretted, however, that Ihad not secured a pack of trained hounds somewhere. 

Frost was late this fall. The acorns had hardly ripened, the leaves hadscarcely colored; and really good bear hunting seemed weeks off. A stormand then a cold snap would help matters wonderfully, and for these wehoped. Indeed the weather had not settled; hardly a day had been free ofclouds. But despite conditions we decided to start in bear hunting everyother day, feeling that at least we could train the pack, and get themand ourselves in better shape for a favorable time when it arrived. 

Accordingly next day we sallied forth for Horton Thicket, and I wentdown with Edd and George. It was a fine day, sunny and windy atintervals. The new trail the boys had made was boggy. From above HortonThicket looked dark, green, verdant, with scarcely any touch of autumncolors; from below, once in it, all seemed a darker green, cool anddamp. Water lay in all low places. The creek roared bankfull of clearwater. 

The new trail led up and down over dark red rich earth, throughthickets of jack-pine and maple, and then across long slopes ofmanzanita and juniper, mescal and oak. Junipers were not fruitful thisyear as they were last, only a few having clusters of lavender-coloredberries. The manzanita brush appeared exceptionally beautiful with itsvivid contrasts of crimson and green leaves, orange-colored berries, andsmooth, shiny bark of a chocolate red. The mescal consisted of roundpatches of cactus with spear-shaped leaves, low on the ground, with along dead stalk standing or broken down. This stalk grows fresh everyspring, when it is laden with beautiful yellow blossoms. The honey fromthe flowers of mescal and mesquite is the best to be obtained in thiscountry of innumerable bees. 

Presently the hounds opened up on some kind of a trail and they workedon it around under the ledges toward the next canyon, called See Canyon. After a while the country grew so rough that fast riding was impossible;the thickets tore and clutched at us until they finally stopped thehorses. We got off. Edd climbed to a ridge-top. "Pack gone way round, "he called. "I'll walk. Take my horse back. " I decided to let George takemy horse also, and I hurried to catch up with Edd. 

Following that long-legged Arizonian on foot was almost as strenuous askeeping him in sight on horseback. I managed it. We climbed steep slopesand the farther we climbed the thicker grew the brush. Often we wouldhalt to listen for hounds, at which welcome intervals I endeavored tocatch my breath. We kept the hounds in hearing, which fact incited us torenewed endeavors. At length we got into a belt of live-oak andscrub-pine brush, almost as difficult to penetrate as manzanita, andhere we had to bend and crawl. Bear and deer tracks led everywhere. Small stones and large stones had been lifted and displaced by bearssearching for grubs. These slopes were dry; we found no water at theheads of ravines, yet the red earth was rich in bearded, tufted grass, yellow daisies and purple asters, and a wan blue flower. We climbed andclimbed, until my back began to give me trouble. "Reckon we--bit off--abig hunk, " remarked Edd once, and I thought he referred to the endlesssteep and brushy slopes. By and bye the hounds came back to us one byone, all footsore and weary. Manifestly the bear had outrun them. Ourbest prospect then was to climb on to the rim and strike across theforest to camp. 

I noticed that tired as I was I had less trouble to keep up with Edd. His boots wore very slippery on grass and pine-needles, so that he mighthave been trying to climb on ice. I had nails in my boots and theycaught hold. Hotter and wetter I grew until I had a burning sensationall over. My legs and arms ached; the rifle weighed a ton; my feetseemed to take hold of the ground and stick. We could not go straight upowing to the nature of that jumble of broken cliffs and matted scrubforests. For hours we toiled onward, upward, downward, and then upward. Only through such experience could I have gained an adequate knowledgeof the roughness and vastness of this rim-rock country. 

At last we arrived at the base of the gray leaning crags, and there, ona long slide of weathered rock the hounds jumped a bear. I saw the dusthe raised, as he piled into the thicket below the slide. What a wildclamor from the hounds! We got out on the rocky slope where we could seeand kept sharp eyes roving, but the bear went straight down hill. Amazing indeed was it the way the hounds drew away from us. In a fewmoments they were at the foot of the slopes, tearing back over thecourse we had been so many hours in coming. Then we set out to get onthe rim, so as to follow along it, and keep track of the chase. Edddistanced me on the rocks. I had to stop often. My breast labored and Icould scarcely breathe. I sweat so freely that my rifle stock was wet. My hardest battle was in fighting a tendency to utter weariness anddisgust. My old poignant feelings about my physical condition returnedto vex me. As a matter of fact I had already that very day accomplisheda climb not at all easy for the Arizonian, and I should have been happy. But I had not been used to a lame back. When I reached the rim I fellthere, and lay there a few moments, until I could get up. Then Ifollowed along after Edd whose yells to the hounds I heard, and overtookhim upon the point of a promontory. Far below the hounds were baying. "They're chasin' him all right, " declared Edd, grimly. "He's headin' forlow country. I think Sue stopped him once. But the rest of the pack arebehind. "

I had never been on the point of this promontory. Grand indeed was thepanorama. Under me yawned a dark-green, smoky-canyoned, rippling basinof timber and red rocks leading away to the mountain ranges of the FourPeaks and Mazatzals. Westward, toward the yellowing sunset stood outlong escarpments for miles, and long sloping lines of black ridges, leading down to the basin where there seemed to be a ripple of theearth, a vast upset region of canyon and ridge, wild and lonely anddark. 

I did not get to see the sunset from that wonderful point, a matter Iregretted. We were far from camp, and Edd was not sure of a bee-lineduring daylight, let alone after dark. Deep in the forest the sunsetgold and red burned on grass and leaf. The aspens took most of thecolor. Swift-flying wisps of cloud turned pink, and low along thewestern horizon of the forest the light seemed golden and blue. 

I was almost exhausted, and by the time we reached camp, just at dark, Iwas wholly exhausted. My voice had sunk to a whisper, a fact thatoccasioned R. C. Some concern until I could explain. Undoubtedly this wasthe hardest day's work I had done since my lion hunting with BuffaloJones. It did not surprise me that next day I had to forget my crosscutsaw exercise. 

Late that afternoon the hounds came straggling into camp, lame andstarved. Sue was the last one in, arriving at supper-time. 

Another day found me still sore, but able to ride, and R. C. And I wentoff into the woods in search of any kind of adventure. This day wascloudy and threatening, with spells of sunshine. We saw two bull elk, acow and a calf. The bulls appeared remarkably agile for so heavy ananimal. Neither of these, however, were of such magnificent proportionsas the one R. C. And I had stalked the first day out. A few minutes laterwe scared out three more cows and three yearlings. I dismounted just forfun, and sighted my rifle at four of them. Next we came to a canyonwhere beaver had cut aspen trees. These animals must have chisel-liketeeth. They left chippings somewhat similar to those cut by an axe. Aspen bark was their winter food. In this particular spot we could notfind a dam or slide. When we rode down into Turkey Canyon, however, wefound a place where beavers had dammed the brook. Many aspens were freshcut, one at least two feet thick, and all the small branches had beencut off and dragged to the water, where I could find no further trace ofthem. The grass was matted down, and on the bare bits of ground showedbeaver tracks. 

[Illustration: WHERE BEAR CROSS THE RIDGE FROM ONE CANYON TO ANOTHER]

[Illustration: CLIMBING OVER THE TOUGH MANZANITA]

Game appeared to be scarce. Haught had told us that deer, turkey andbear had all gone to feed on the mast (fallen acorns); and if we couldlocate the mast we would find the game. He said he had once seen a herdof several hundred deer migrating from one section of country toanother. Apparently this was to find new feeding grounds. 

[Illustration: BEAR IN SIGHT ACROSS CANYON]

While we were resting under a spruce I espied a white-breasted, blue-headed, gray-backed little bird at work on a pine tree. He walkedhead first down the bark, pecking here and there. I saw a moth or awinged insect fly off the tree, and then another. Then I saw severalmore fly away. The bird was feeding on winged insects that lived in thebark. Some of them saw or heard him coming and escaped, but many of themhe caught. He went about this death-dealing business with a brisk andcheerful manner. No doubt nature had developed him to help protect thetrees from bugs and worms and beetles. 

Later that day, in an open grassy canyon, we came upon quite a largebird, near the size of a pigeon, which I thought appeared to be aspecies of jay or magpie. This bird had gray and black colors, a roundhead, and a stout bill. At first I thought it was crippled, as it hoppedand fluttered about in the grass. I got down to catch it. Then Idiscovered it was only tame. I could approach to within a foot ofreaching it. Once it perched upon a low snag, and peeped at me withlittle bright dark eyes, very friendly, as if he liked my company. I satthere within a few feet of him for quite a while. We resumed our ride. Crossing a fresh buck track caused us to dismount, and tie our horses. But that buck was too wary for us. We returned to camp as usual, emptyhanded as far as game was concerned. 

I forgot to say anything to Haught or Doyle about the black and graybird that had so interested me. Quite a coincidence was it then to seeanother such bird and that one right in camp. He appeared to be as tameas the other. He flew and hopped around camp in such a friendly mannerthat I placed a piece of meat in a conspicuous place for him. Not longwas he in finding it. He alighted on it, and pecked and pulled at agreat rate. Doyle claimed it was a Clark crow, named after one of theLewis and Clark expedition. "It's a rare bird, " said Doyle. "First oneI've seen in thirty years. " As Doyle spent most of his time in the openthis statement seemed rather remarkable. 

We had frost on two mornings, temperature as low as twenty-six degrees, and then another change indicative of unsettled weather. It rained, andsleeted, and then snowed, but the ground was too wet to hold the snow. 

The wilderness began all at once, as if by magic, to take on autumncolors. Then the forest became an enchanted region of white aspens, golden-green aspens, purple spruces, dark green pines, maples a blaze ofvermilion, cerise, scarlet, magenta, rose--and slopes of dull red sumac. These were the beginning of Indian summer days, the melancholy days, with their color and silence and beauty and fragrance and mystery. 

Hunting then became quite a dream for me, as if it called back to me dimmystic days in the woods of some past weird world. One afternoon Copple, R. C. , and I went as far as the east side of Gentry Canyon and workeddown. Copple found fresh deer and turkey sign. We tied our horses, andslipped back against the wind. R. C. Took one side of a ridge, withCopple and me on the other, and we worked down toward where we had seenthe sign. After half an hour of slow, stealthy glide through the forestwe sat down at the edge of a park, expecting R. C. To come along soon. The white aspens were all bare, and oak leaves were rustling down. Thewind lulled a while, then softly roared in the pines. All at once bothof us heard a stick crack, and light steps of a walking deer on leaves. Copple whispered: "Get ready to shoot. " We waited, keen and tight, expecting to see a deer walk out into the open. But none came. Leavingour stand we slipped into the woods, careful not to make the slightestsound. Such careful, slow steps were certainly not accountable for therapid beat of my heart. Something gray moved among the green and yellowleaves. I halted, and held Copple back. Then not twenty paces away Idescried what I thought was a fawn. It glided toward us without theslightest sound. Suddenly, half emerging from some maple saplings, itsaw us and seemed stricken to stone. Not ten steps from me! Soft grayhue, slender graceful neck and body, sleek small head with long ears, and great dark distended eyes, wilder than any wild eyes I had everbeheld. I saw it quiver all over. I was quivering too, but with emotion. Copple whispered: "Yearlin' buck. Shoot!"

His whisper, low as it was, made the deer leap like a gray flash. Alsoit broke the spell for me. "Year old buck!" I exclaimed, quite loud. "Thought he was a fawn. But I couldn't have shot----"

A crash of brush interrupted me. Thump of hoofs, crack of branches--thena big buck deer bounded onward into the thicket. I got one snap shot athis fleeting blurred image and missed him. We ran ahead, but to noavail. 

"Four-point buck, " said Copple. "He must have been standin' behind thatbrush. "

"Did you see his horns?" I gasped, incredulously. 

"Sure. But he was runnin' some. Let's go down this slope where hejumped. .. . Now will you look at that! Here's where he started after youshot. "

A gentle slope, rather open, led down to the thicket where the buck hadvanished. We measured the first of his downhill jumps, and it amountedto eighteen of my rather short steps. What a magnificent leap! Itreminded me of the story of Hart-leap Well. 

As we retraced our steps R. C. Met us, reporting that he had heard thebuck running, but could not see him. We scouted around together for anhour, then R. C. And Copple started off on a wide detour, leaving me at astand in the hope they might drive some turkeys my way. I sat on a loguntil almost sunset. All the pine tips turned gold and patches of goldbrightened the ground. Jays were squalling, gray squirrels were barking, red squirrels were chattering, snowbirds were twittering, pine coneswere dropping, leaves were rustling. But there were no turkeys, and Idid not miss them. R. C. And Copple returned to tell me there were signsof turkeys and deer all over the ridge. "We'll ride over here earlyto-morrow, " said Copple, "an' I'll bet my gun we pack some meat tocamp. "

But the unsettled weather claimed the next day and the next, giving usspells of rain and sleet, and periods of sunshine deceptive in theirpromise. Camp, however, with our big camp-fire, and little tent-stoves, and Takahashi, would have been delightful in almost any weather. Takahashi was insulted, the boys told me, because I said he was born tobe a cook. It seemed the Jap looked down upon this culinary job. "Cook--that woman joob!" he said, contemptuously. 

As I became better acquainted with Takahashi I learned to think more ofthe Japanese. I studied Takahashi very earnestly and I grew to like him. The Orientals are mystics and hard to understand. But any one could seethat here was a Japanese who was a real man. I never saw him idle. Heresented being told what to do, and after my first offense in thisregard I never gave him another order. He was a wonderful cook. Itpleased his vanity to see how good an appetite I always had. When Iwould hail him: "George, what you got to eat?" he would grin and reply:"Aw, turkee!" Then I would let out a yell, for I never in my life tastedanything so good as the roast wild turkey Takahashi served us. Or hewould say: "Pan-cakes--apple dumplings--rice puddings. " No one but theJaps know how to cook rice. I asked him how he cooked rice over an openfire and he said: "I know how hot--when done. " Takahashi must havepossessed an uncanny knowledge of the effects of heat. How swift, clean, efficient and saving he was! He never wasted anything. In these days ofAmerican prodigality a frugal cook like Takahashi was a revelation. Seldom are the real producers of food ever wasters. Takahashi's ambitionwas to be a rancher in California. I learned many things about him. Insummer he went to the Imperial Valley where he picked and packedcantaloupes. He could stand the intense heat. He was an expert. Hecommanded the highest wage. Then he was a raisin-picker, which for himwas another art. He had accumulated a little fortune and knew how tosave his money. He would have been a millionaire in Japan, but heintended to live in the United States. 

Takahashi had that best of traits--generosity. Whenever he made pie orcake or doughnuts he always saved his share for me to have for my lunchnext day. No use to try to break him of this kindly habit! He was keentoo, and held in particular disfavor any one who picked out the bestportions of turkey or meat. "No like that, " he would say; and I heartilyagreed with him. Life in the open brought out the little miserabletraits of human nature, of which no one was absolutely free. 

I admired Takahashi's cooking, I admired the enormous pile of firewoodhe always had chopped, I admired his generosity; but most of all I likedhis cheerfulness and good humor. He grew to be a joy to me. We had somepop corn which we sometimes popped over the camp-fire. He was fond of itand he said: "You eat all time--much pop corn--just so long you keepmouth going all same like horse--you happy. " We were troubled a gooddeal by skunks. Now some skunks were not bad neighbors, but others weredisgusting and dangerous. The hog-nosed skunk, according to westerners, very often had hydrophobia and would bite a sleeper. I knew of severalmen dying of rabies from this bite. Copple said he had been awakenedtwice at night by skunks biting the noses of his companions in camp. Copple had to choke the skunks off. One of these men died. We werereally afraid of them. Doyle said one had visited him in his tent and hehad been forced to cover his head until he nearly smothered. NowTakahashi slept in the tent with the store of supplies. One night askunk awakened him. In reporting this to me the Jap said: "See skunk allblack and white at tent door. I flash light. Skunk no 'fraid. He no run. He act funny--then just walk off. "

After that experience Takahashi set a box-trap for skunks. One morninghe said with a huge grin: "I catch skunk. Want you take picture for mesend my wife Sadayo. "

So I got my camera, and being careful to take a safe position, as didall the boys, I told Takahashi I was ready to photograph him and hisskunk. He got a pole that was too short to suit me, and he lifted up thebox-trap. A furry white and black cat appeared, with remarkably bushytail. What a beautiful little animal to bear such opprobrium! "All samelike cat, " said Takahashi. "Kittee--kittee. " It appeared that kitty wasnot in the least afraid. On the contrary she surveyed the formidable Japwith his pole, and her other enemies in a calm, dignified manner. Thenshe turned away. Here I tried to photograph her and Takahashi together. When she started off the Jap followed and poked her with the pole. "Take'nother picture. " But kitty suddenly whirled, with fur and tail erect, amost surprising and brave and assured front, then ran at Takahashi. Iyelled: "Run George!" Pell-mell everybody fled from that beautifullittle beast. We were arrant cowards. But Takahashi grasped up anotherand longer pole, and charged back at kitty. This time he chased her outof camp. When he returned his face was a study: "Nashty thing! She makeawful stink! She no 'fraid a tall. Next time I kill her sure!"

The head of Gentry Canyon was about five miles from camp, and we reachedit the following morning while the frost was still white and sparkling. We tied our horses. Copple said: "This is a deer day. I'll show you abuck sure. Let's stick together an' walk easy. "

So we made sure to work against the wind, which, however, was so lightas almost to be imperceptible, and stole along the dark ravine, takinghalf a dozen steps or so at a time. How still the forest! When it waslike this I always felt as if I had discovered something new. The bigtrees loomed stately and calm, stretching a rugged network of branchesover us. Fortunately no saucy squirrels or squalling jays appeared to beabroad to warn game of our approach. Not only a tang, but a thrill, seemed to come pervasively on the cool air. All the colors of autumnwere at their height, and gorgeous plots of maple thicket and sumacburned against the brown and green. We slipped along, each of us strungto be the first to hear or see some living creature of the wild. R. C. , as might have been expected, halted us with a softly whispered:"Listen. " But neither Copple nor I heard what R. C. Heard, and presentlywe moved on as before. Presently again R. C. Made us pause, with a likeresult. Somehow the forest seemed unusually wild. It provoked atingling expectation. The pine-covered slope ahead of us, the thicketedridge to our left, the dark, widening ravine to our right, all seemed toharbor listening, watching, soft-footed denizens of the wild. At lengthwe reached a level bench, beautifully forested, where the ridge ran downin points to where the junction of several ravines formed the head ofGentry Canyon. 

How stealthily we stole on! Here Copple said was a place for deer tograze. But the grass plots, golden with sunlight and white with frostand black-barred by shadows of pines, showed no game. 

Copple sat down on a log, and I took a seat beside him to the left. R. C. Stood just to my left. As I laid my rifle over my knees and opened mylips to whisper I was suddenly struck mute. I saw R. C. Stiffen, thencrouch a little. He leaned forward--his eyes had the look of a falcon. Then I distinctly heard the soft crack of hoofs on stone and breaking oftiny twigs. Quick as I whirled my head I still caught out of the tail ofmy eye the jerk of R. C. As he threw up his rifle. I looked--I strainedmy eyes--I flashed them along the rim of the ravine where R. C. Had beengazing. A gray form seemed to move into the field of my vision. Thatinstant it leaped, and R. C. 's rifle shocked me with its bursting crack. I seemed stunned, so near was the report. But I saw the gray form pitchheadlong and I heard a solid thump. 

"Buck, an' he's your meat!" called Copple, low and sharp. "Look foranother one. "

No other deer appeared. R. C. Ran toward the spot where the gray form hadplunged in a heap, and Copple and I followed. It was far enough to makeme pant for breath. We found R. C. Beside a fine three-point buck thathad been shot square in the back of the head between and below the rootsof its antlers. 

"Never knew what struck him!" exclaimed Copple, and he laid hold of thedeer and hauled it out of the edge of the thicket. "Fine an' fat. Venison for camp, boys. One of you go after the horses an' the otherhelp me hang him up. "

VI

I had been riding eastward of Beaver Dam Canyon with Haught, and we hadparted up on the ridge, he to go down a ravine leading to his camp, andI to linger a while longer up there in the Indian-summer woods, so fullof gold and silence and fragrance on that October afternoon. 

The trail gradually drew me onward and downward, and at length I cameout into a narrow open park lined by spruce trees. Suddenly Don Carlosshot up his ears. I had not ridden him for days and he appeared morethan usually spirited. He saw or heard something. I held him in, andafter a moment I dismounted and drew my rifle. A crashing in brushsomewhere near at hand excited me. Peering all around I tried to locatecause for the sound. Again my ear caught a violent swishing of brushaccompanied by a snapping of twigs. This time I cocked my rifle. DonCarlos snorted. After another circling swift gaze it dawned upon me thatthe sound came from overhead. 

I looked into this tree and that, suddenly to have my gaze arrested by athreshing commotion in the very top of a lofty spruce. I saw a dark formmoving against a background of blue sky. Instantly I thought it must bea lynx and was about to raise my rifle when a voice as from the veryclouds utterly astounded me. I gasped in my astonishment. Was Idreaming? But violent threshings and whacks from the tree-top absolutelyassured me that I was neither dreaming nor out of my head. "I getyou--whee!" shouted the voice. There was a man up in the swaying top ofthat spruce and he was no other than Takahashi. For a moment I could notfind my voice. Then I shouted:

"Hey up there, George! What in the world are you doing? I came nearshooting you. "

"Aw hullo!--I come down now, " replied Takahashi. 

I had seen both lynx and lion climb down out of a tree, but nothingexcept a squirrel could ever have beaten Takahashi. The spruce was fullyone hundred and fifty feet high; and unless I made a great mistake theJap descended in two minutes. He grinned from ear to ear. 

"I no see you--no hear, " he said. "You take me for big cat?"

"Yes, George, and I might have shot you. What were you doing up there?"

Takahashi brushed the needles and bark from his clothes. "I go out withlittle gun you give me. I hunt, no see squirrel. Go out no gun--seesquirrel. I chase him up tree--I climb high--awful high. No good. Squirrel he too quick. He run right over me--get away. "

Takahashi laughed with me. I believed he was laughing at what heconsidered the surprising agility of the squirrel, while I was laughingat him. Here was another manifestation of the Jap's simplicity andcapacity. If all Japanese were like Takahashi they were a wonderfulpeople. Men are men because they do things. The Persians were trained tosweat freely at least once every day of their lives. It seemed to methat if a man did not sweat every day, which was to say--labor hard--hevery surely was degenerating physically. I could learn a great deal fromGeorge Takahashi. Right there I told him that my father had been afamous squirrel hunter in his day. He had such remarkable eyesight thathe could espy the ear of a squirrel projecting above the highest limbof a tall white oak. And he was such a splendid shot that he had often"barked" squirrels, as was a noted practice of the old pioneer. I had toexplain to Takahashi that this practice consisted of shooting a bulletto hit the bark right under the squirrel, and the concussion would sostun it that it would fall as if dead. 

"Aw my goodnish--your daddy more better shot than you!" ejaculatedTakahashi. 

"Yes indeed he was, " I replied, reflectively, as in a flash thelong-past boyhood days recurred in memory. Hunting days--playing days ofboyhood were the best of life. It seemed to me that one of the fewreasons I still had for clinging to hunting was this keen, thrillinghark back to early days. Books first--then guns--then fishing poles--soran the list of material possessions dear to my heart as a lad. 

That night was moonlight, cold, starry, with a silver sheen on thespectral spruces. During the night there came a change; it rained--firsta drizzle, then a heavy downpour, and at five-thirty a roar of hail onthe tent. This music did not last long. At seven o'clock the thermometerregistered thirty-four degrees, but there was no frost. The morning wassomewhat cloudy or foggy, with promise of clearing. 

We took the hounds over to See Canyon, and while Edd and Nielsen wentdown with them, the rest of us waited above for developments. Scarcelyhad they more than time enough to reach the gorge below when the packburst into full chorus. Haught led the way then around the rough rim forbetter vantage points. I was mounted on one of the horses Lee had gottenfor me--a fine, spirited animal named Stockings. Probably he had been acavalry horse. He was a bay with white feet, well built and powerful, though not over medium size. One splendid feature about him was that asaddle appeared to fit him so snugly it never slipped. And anotherfeature, infinitely the most attractive to me, was his easy gait. Histrot and lope were so comfortable and swinging, like the motion of arocking-chair, that I could ride him all day with pleasure. But when itcame to chasing after hounds and bears along the rim Stockings gave metrouble. Too eager, too spirited, he would not give me time to choosethe direction. He jumped ditches and gullies, plunged into bad jumblesor rock, tried to hurdle logs too high for him, carried me under lowbranches and through dense thickets, and in general showed he wasexceedingly willing to chase after the pack, but ignorant of roughforest travel. Owing to this I fell behind, and got out of hearing ofboth hounds and men, and eventually found myself lost somewhere on thewest side of See Canyon. To get out I had to turn my back to the sun, travel west till I came to the rim above Horton Thicket, and from therereturn to camp, arriving rather late in the afternoon. 

All the men had returned, and all the hounds except Buck. I was rathersurprised and disturbed to find the Haughts in a high state of dudgeon. Edd looked pale and angry. Upon questioning Nielsen I learned that thehounds had at once struck a fresh bear track in See Canyon. Nielsen andEdd had not followed far before they heard a hound yelping in pain. Theyfound Buck caught in a bear trap. The rest of the hounds came upon alittle bear cub, caught in another trap, and killed it. Nielsen said ithad evidently been a prisoner for some days, being very poor andemaciated. Fresh tracks of the mother bear were proof that she had beenaround trying to save it or minister to it. There were trappers in SeeCanyon; and between bear hunters and trappers manifestly there was nolove lost. Edd said they had as much right to trap as we had to hunt, but that was not the question. There had been opportunity to tell theHaughts about the big number four bear traps set in See Canyon. But theydid not tell it. Edd had brought the dead cub back to our camp. It was apretty little bear cub, about six months old, with a soft silky browncoat. No one had to look at it twice to see how it had suffered. 

This matter of trapping wild animals is singularly hateful to me. Badenough is it to stalk deer to shoot them for their meat, but at leastthis is a game where the deer have all the advantage. Bad indeed it maybe to chase bear with hounds, but that is a hard, dangerous method ofhunting which gives it some semblance of fairness. Most of my bear huntsproved to me that I ran more risks than the bears. To set traps, however, to hide big iron-springed, spike-toothed traps to catch andclutch wild animals alive, and hold them till they died or starved orgnawed off their feet, or until the trapper chose to come with his gunor club to end the miserable business--what indeed shall I call that?Cruel--base--cowardly!

It cannot be defended on moral grounds. But vast moneyed interests areat stake. One of the greatest of American fortunes was built upon thebrutal, merciless trapping of wild animals for their furs. And in thisfall of 1919 the prices of fox, marten, beaver, raccoon, skunk, lynx, muskrat, mink, otter, were higher by double than they had ever been. Trappers were going to reap a rich harvest. Well, everybody must make aliving; but is this trapping business honest, is it manly? To myknowledge trappers are hardened. Market fishermen are hardened, too, butthe public eat fish. They do not eat furs. Now in cold climates andseasons furs are valuable to protect people who must battle with winterwinds and sleet and ice; and against their use by such I daresay thereis no justification for censure. But the vast number of furs go to deckthe persons of vain women. I appreciate the beautiful contrast of fairskin against a background of sable fur, or silver fox, or rich, black, velvety seal. But beautiful women would be just as beautiful, just aswarmly clothed in wool instead of fur. And infinitely better women! Notlong ago I met a young woman in one of New York's fashionable hotels, and I remarked about the exquisite evening coat of fur she wore. Shesaid she loved furs. She certainly was handsome, and she appeared to berefined, cultured, a girl of high class. And I said it was a pity womendid not know or care where furs came from. She seemed surprised. Then Itold her about the iron-jawed, spike-toothed traps hidden by the springsor on the runways of game--about the fox or beaver or marten seeking itsfood, training its young to fare for themselves--about the suddenterrible clutch of the trap, and then the frantic fear, the instinctivefury, the violent struggle--about the foot gnawed off by the beast thatwas too fierce to die a captive--about the hours of agony, the horriblethirst--the horrible days till death. And I concluded: "All becausewomen are luxurious and vain!" She shuddered underneath the beautifulcoat of furs, and seemed insulted. 

Upon inquiry I learned from Nielsen that Buck was coming somewhere backalong the trail hopping along on three legs. I rode on down to my camp, and procuring a bottle of iodine I walked back in the hope of doing Bucka good turn. During my absence he had reached camp, and was lying underan aspen, apart from the other hounds. Buck looked meaner and uglier andmore distrustful than ever. Evidently this injury to his leg was a trickplayed upon him by his arch enemy man. I stood beside him, as he lickedthe swollen, bloody leg, and talked to him, as kindly as I knew how. Andfinally I sat down beside him. The trap-teeth had caught his right frontleg just above the first joint, and from the position of the teeth marksand the way he moved his leg I had hopes that the bone was not broken. Apparently the big teeth had gone through on each side of the bone. WhenI tried gently to touch the swollen leg Buck growled ominously. He wouldhave bitten me. I patted his head with one hand, and watching my chance, at length with the other I poured iodine over the open cuts. Then I keptpatting him and holding his head until the iodine had become absorbed. Perhaps it was only my fancy, but it seemed that the ugly gleam in hisdistrustful eyes had become sheepish, as if he was ashamed of somethinghe did not understand. That look more than ever determined me to try tofind some way to his affections. 

A camp-fire council that night resulted in plans to take a pack outfit, and ride west along the rim to a place Haught called Dude Creek. "Reckonwe'll shore smoke up some bars along Dude, " said Haught. "Never was inthere but I jumped bars. Good deer an' turkey country, too. "

Next day we rested the hounds, and got things into packing shape withthe intention of starting early the following morning. But it rained onand off; and the day after that we could not find Haught's burros, andnot until the fourth morning could we start. It turned out that Buck didnot have a broken leg and had recovered surprisingly from the injury hehad received. Aloof as he held himself it appeared certain he did notwant to be left behind. 

We rode all day along the old Crook road where the year before we hadencountered so many obstacles. I remembered most of the road, but howstrange it seemed to me, and what a proof of my mental condition on thatmemorable trip, that I did not remember all. Usually forest or desertground I have traveled over I never forget. This ride, in the middle ofOctober, when all the colors of autumn vied with the sunlight to makethe forest a region of golden enchantment, was one of particular delightto me. I had begun to work and wear out the pain in my back. Every nightI had suffered a little less and slept a little better, and everymorning I had less and less of a struggle to get up and straighten out. Many a groan had I smothered. But now, when I got warmed up from ridingor walking or sawing wood, the pain left me altogether and I forgot it. I had given myself heroic treatment, but my reward was in sight. Mytheory that the outdoor life would cure almost any ill of body or mindseemed to have earned another proof added to the long list. 

At sunset we had covered about sixteen miles of rough road, and hadarrived at a point where we were to turn away from the rim, down into acanyon named Barber Shop Canyon, where we were to camp. 

[Illustration: Z. G. 'S CINNAMON BEAR]

[Illustration: R. C. 'S BIG BROWN BEAR]

Before turning aside I rode out to the rim for a look down at thesection of country we were to hunt. What a pleasure to recognize thepoint from which Romer-boy had seen his first wild bear! It was awonderful section of rim-rock country. I appeared to be at the extremepoint of a vast ten-league promontory, rising high over the basin, wherethe rim was cut into canyons as thick as teeth of a saw. They werenotched and v-shaped. Craggy russet-lichened cliffs, yellow andgold-stained rocks, old crumbling ruins of pinnacles crowned by pinethickets, ravines and gullies and canyons, choked with trees and brushall green-gold, purple-red, scarlet-fire--these indeed were the heightsand depths, the wild, lonely ruggedness, the color and beauty ofArizona land. There were long, steep slopes of oak thickets, where thebears lived, long gray slides of weathered rocks, long slanting ridgesof pine, descending for miles out and down into the green basin, yetalways seeming to stand high above that rolling wilderness. The sunstood crossed by thin clouds--a golden blaze in a golden sky--sinking tomeet a ragged horizon line of purple. 

[Illustration: ANOTHER BEAR]

Here again was I confronted with the majesty and beauty of the earth, and with another and more striking effect of this vast tilted rim ofmesa. I could see many miles to west and east. This rim was a huge wallof splintered rock, a colossal cliff, towering so high above the blackbasin below that ravines and canyons resembled ripples or dimples, darker lines of shade. And on the other side from its very edge, wherethe pine fringe began, it sloped gradually to the north, with heads ofcanyons opening almost at the crest. I saw one ravine begin its startnot fifty feet from the rim. 

Barber Shop Canyon had five heads, all running down like the fingers ofa hand, to form the main canyon, which was deep, narrow, forested bygiant pines. A round, level dell, watered by a murmuring brook, deepdown among the many slopes, was our camp ground, and never had I seenone more desirable. The wind soughed in the lofty pine tops, but not abreeze reached down to this sheltered nook. With sunset gold on the highslopes our camp was shrouded in twilight shadows. R. C. And I stretched acanvas fly over a rope from tree to tree, staked down the ends, and leftthe sides open. Under this we unrolled our beds. 

Night fell quickly down in that sequestered pit, and indeed it was blacknight. A blazing camp-fire enhanced the circling gloom, and invested thegreat brown pines with some weird aspect. The boys put up an old tentfor the hounds. Poor Buck was driven out of this shelter by his caninerivals. I took pity upon him, and tied him at the foot of my bed. WhenR. C. And I crawled into our blankets we discovered Buck snugly settledbetween our beds, and wonderful to hear, he whined. "Well, Buck, olddog, you keep the skunks away, " said R. C. And Buck emitted some kind ofa queer sound, apparently meant to assure us that he would keep even alion away. From my bed I could see the tips of the black pines close tothe white stars. Before I dropped to sleep the night grew silent, exceptfor the faint moan of wind and low murmur of brook. 

We crawled out early, keen to run from the cold wash in the brook to thehot camp-fire. George and Edd had gone down the canyon after the horses, which had been hobbled and turned loose. Lee had remained with hisfather at Beaver Dam camp. For breakfast Takahashi had venison, biscuits, griddle cakes with maple syrup, and hot cocoa. I certainly didnot begin on an empty stomach what augured to be a hard day. Buck hungaround me this morning, and I subdued my generous impulses long enoughto be convinced that he had undergone a subtle change. Then I fed him. Old Dan and Old Tom were witnesses of this procedure, which theyregarded with extreme disfavor. And the pups tried to pick a fight withBuck. 

By eight o'clock we were riding up the colored slopes, through the stillforest, with the sweet, fragrant, frosty air nipping at our noses. Amile from camp we reached a notch in the rim that led down to DudeCreek, and here Edd and Nielsen descended with the hounds. The rest ofus rode out to a point there to await developments. The sun had alreadyflooded the basin with golden light; the east slopes of canyon and rimwere dark in shade. I sat on a mat of pine needles near the rim, andlooked, and cared not for passage of time. 

But I was not permitted to be left to sensorial dreams. Right under usthe hounds opened up, filling the canyon full of bellowing echoes. Theyworked down. Slopes below us narrowed to promontories and along these wekept our gaze. Suddenly Haught gave a jump, and rose, thumping to hishorse. "Saw a bar, " he yelled. "Just got a glimpse of him crossin' anopen ridge. Come on. " We mounted and chased Haught over the roughestkind of rocky ground, to overtake him at the next point on the rim. "Ride along, you fellars, " he said, "an' each pick out a stand. Keepahead of the dogs an' look sharp. "

Then it was in short order that I found myself alone, Copple, R. C. AndGeorge Haught having got ahead of me. I kept to the rim. The houndscould be heard plainly and also the encouraging yells of Nielsen andEdd. Apparently the chase was working along under me, in the direction Iwas going. The baying of the pack, the scent of pine, the ring ofiron-shod hoofs on stone, the sense of wild, broken, vast country, thegolden void beneath and the purple-ranged horizon--all these broughtvividly and thrillingly to mind my hunting days with Buffalo Jones alongthe north rim of the Grand Canyon. I felt a pang, both for the past, andfor my friend and teacher, this last of the old plainsmen who had diedrecently. In his last letter to me, written with a death-stricken hand, he had talked of another hunt, of more adventure, of his cherished hopeto possess an island in the north Pacific, there to propagate wildanimals--he had dreamed again the dream that could never come true. Iwas riding with my face to the keen, sweet winds of the wild, and he wasgone. No joy in life is ever perfect. I wondered if any grief was everwholly hopeless. 

I came at length to a section of rim where huge timbered steps reachedout and down. Dismounting I tied Stockings, and descended to the craggypoints below, where I clambered here and there, looking, listening. Nolonger could I locate the hounds; now the baying sounded clear andsharp, close at hand, and then hollow and faint, and far away. I crawledunder gnarled cedars, over jumbles of rock, around leaning crags, untilI got out to a point where I had such command of slopes and capes, wherethe scene was so grand that I was both thrilled and awed. Somewherebelow me to my left were the hounds still baying. The lower reaches ofthe rim consisted of ridges and gorges, benches and ravines, canyons andpromontories--a country so wild and broken that it seemed impossible forhounds to travel it, let alone men. Above me, to my right, stuck out ayellow point of rim, and beyond that I knew there jutted out anotherpoint, and more and more points on toward the west. George was yellingfrom one of them, and I thought I heard a faint reply from R. C. OrCopple. I believed for the present they were too far westward along therim, and so I devoted my attention to the slopes under me toward myleft. But once my gaze wandered around, and suddenly I espied a shinyblack object moving along a bare slope, far below. A bear! So thrilledand excited was I that I did not wonder why this bear walked along soleisurely and calmly. Assuredly he had not even heard the hounds. Ibegan to shoot, and in five rapid shots I spattered dust all over him. Not until I had two more shots, one of which struck close, did he beginto run. Then he got out of my sight. I yelled and yelled to those aheadof me along the rim. Somebody answered, and next somebody began toshoot. How I climbed and crawled and scuffled to get back to my horse!Stockings answered to the spirit of the occasion. Like a deer he ranaround the rough rim, and I had to perform with the agility of acontortionist to avoid dead snags of trees and green branches. When Igot to the point from which I had calculated George had done hisshooting I found no one. My yells brought no answers. But I heard ahorse cracking the rocks behind me. Then up from far below rang thesharp spangs of rifles in quick action. Nielsen and Edd were shooting. Icounted seven shots. How the echoes rang from wall to wall, to diehollow and faint in the deep canyons!

I galloped ahead to the next point, finding only the tracks of R. C. 'sboots. Everywhere I peered for the bear I had sighted, and at intervalsI yelled. For all the answer I got I might as well have been alone onthe windy rim of the world. My voice seemed lost in immensity. Then Irode westward, then back eastward, and to and fro until both Stockingsand I were weary. At last I gave up, and took a good, long rest under apine on the rim. Not a shot, not a yell, not a sound but wind and thesquall of a jay disrupted the peace of that hour. I profited by thislull in the excitement by more means than one, particularly in sight ofa flock of wild pigeons. They alighted in the tops of pines below me, sothat I could study them through my field glass. They were considerablylarger than doves, dull purple color on the back, light on the breast, with ringed or barred neck. Haught had assured me that birds of thisdescription were indeed the famous wild pigeons, now almost extinct inthe United States. I remembered my father telling me he had seen flocksthat darkened the skies. These pigeons appeared to have swift flight. 

Another feature of this rest along the rim was a sight just as beautifulas that of the pigeons, though not so rare; and it was the flying ofclouds of colored autumn leaves on the wind. 

The westering of the sun advised me that the hours had fled, and it washigh time for me to bestir myself toward camp. On my way back I foundHaught, his son George, Copple and R. C. Waiting for Edd and Nielsen tocome up over the rim, and for me to return. They asked for my story. Then I learned theirs. Haught had kept even with the hounds, but hadseen only the brown bear that had crossed the ridge early in the day. Copple had worked far westward, to no avail. R. C. Had been close toGeorge and me, had heard our bullets pat, yet had been unable to locateany bear. To my surprise it turned out that George had shot at a brownbear when I had supposed it was my black one. Whereupon Haught said:"Reckon Edd an' Nielsen smoked up some other bear. "

One by one the hounds climbed over the rim and wearily lay down besideus. Down the long, grassy, cedared aisle I saw Edd and Nielsen ploddingup. At length they reached us wet and dusty and thirsty. When Edd gothis breath he said: "Right off we struck a hot trail. Bear witheleven-inch track. He'd come down to drink last night. Hounds worked upthet yeller oak thicket, an' somewhere Sue an' Rock jumped him out ofhis bed. He run down, an' he made some racket. Took to the low slopesan' hit up lively all the way down Dude, then crossed, climbed aroundunder thet bare point of rock. Here some of the hounds caught up withhim. We heard a pup yelp, an' after a while Kaiser Bill come sneakin'back. It was awful thick down in the canyon so we climbed the east sidehigh enough to see. An' we were workin' down when the pack bayed thebear round thet bare point. It was up an' across from us. Nielsen an' Iclimbed on a rock. There was an open rock-slide where we thought thebear would show. It was five hundred yards. We ought to have gone acrossan' got a stand higher up. Well, pretty soon we saw him come paddlin'out of the brush--a big grizzly, almost black, with a frosty back. Hewas a silvertip all right. Niels an' I began to shoot. An' thet bearbegan to hump himself. He was mad, too. His fur stood up like a ruffleon his neck. Niels got four shots an' I got three. Reckon one of usstung him a little. Lordy, how he run! An' his last jump off the slidewas a header into the brush. He crossed the canyon, an' climbed thethigh east slope of Dude, goin' over the pass where father killed the bigcinnamon three years ago. The hounds stuck to his trail. It took us anhour or more to climb up to thet pass. Broad bear trail goes over. Weheard the hounds 'way down in the canyon on the other side. Niels an' Iworked along the ridge, down an' around, an' back to Dude Creek. I keptcallin' the hounds till they all came back. They couldn't catch him. Hesure was a jack-rabbit for runnin'. Reckon thet's all. .. . Now who wassmokin' shells up on the rim?"

When all was told and talked over Haught said: "Wal, you can just bet weput up two brown bears an' one black bear, an' thet old Jasper of asilvertip. "

How hungry and thirsty and tired I was when we got back to camp! The dayhad been singularly rich in exciting thrills and sensorial perceptions. I called to the Jap: "I'm starv-ved to death!" And Takahashi, who hadmany times heard my little boy Loren yell that, grinned all over hisdusky face. "Aw, lots good things pretty soon!"

After supper we lounged around a cheerful, crackling camp-fire. Theblaze roared in the breeze, the red embers glowed white and opal, thesmoke swooped down and curled away into the night shadows. Old Dan, asusual, tried to sit in the fire, and had to be rescued. Buck came to mewhere I sat with my back to a pine, my feet to the warmth. He was lameto-night, having run all day on that injured leg. The other dogs layscattered around in range of the heat. Natural indeed was it then, insuch an environment, after talking over the auspicious start of our huntat Dude Creek, that we should drift to the telling of stories. 

Sensing this drift I opened the hour of reminiscence and told some of myexperiences in the jungle of southern Mexico. Copple immediately toppedmy stories by more wonderful and hair-raising ones about his ownadventures in northern Mexico. These stirred Nielsen to talk about theSeri Indians, and their cannibalistic traits; and from these he driftedto the Yuma Indians. Speaking of their remarkable stature and strengthhe finally got to the subject of giants of brawn and bone in Norway. 

One young Norwegian was eight feet tall and broad in proportion. Hisemployer was a captain of a fishing boat. One time, on the way to theirhome port, a quarrel arose about money due the young giant, and in hisanger he heaved the anchor overboard. That of course halted the boat, and it stayed halted, because the captain and crew could not heave theheavy anchor without the help of their brawny comrade. Finally the moneymatter was adjusted, and the young giant heaved the anchor withoutassistance. Nielsen went on to tell that this fisherman of such mightyframe had a beautiful young wife whom he adored. She was not by anymeans a small or frail girl--rather the contrary--but she appeareddiminutive beside her giant husband. One day he returned from a longabsence on the sea. When his wife, in her joy, ran into his arms, hegave her such a tremendous hug that he crushed her chest, and she died. In his grief the young husband went insane and did not survive her long. 

Next Nielsen told a story about Norwegians sailing to the Arctic on ascientific expedition. Just before the long polar night of darkness setin there arose a necessity for the ship and crew to return to Norway. Two men must be left in the Arctic to care for the supplies until theship came back. The captain called for volunteers. There were two youngmen in the crew, and from childhood they had been playmates, schoolmates, closer than brothers, and inseparable even in manhood. Oneof these young men said to his friend: "I'll stay if you will. " And theother quickly agreed. After the ship sailed, and the land of themidnight sun had become icy and black, one of these comrades fell ill, and soon died. The living one placed the body in the room with the shipsupplies, where it froze stiff; and during all the long polar night ofsolitude and ghastly gloom he lived next to this sepulchre thatcontained his dead friend. When the ship returned the crew found theliving comrade an old man with hair as white as snow, and never in hislife afterward was he seen to smile. 

These stories stirred my emotions like Doyle's tale about Jones' Ranch. How wonderful, beautiful, terrible and tragical is human life! Again Iheard the still, sad music of humanity, the eternal beat and moan of thewaves upon a lonely shingle shore. Who would not be a teller of tales?

Copple followed Nielsen with a story about a prodigious feat of hisown--a story of incredible strength and endurance, which at first I tookto be a satire on Nielsen's remarkable narrative. But Copple seemeddeadly serious, and I began to see that he possessed a strangesimplicity of exaggeration. The boys thought Copple stretched the trutha little, but I thought that he believed what he told. 

Haught was a great teller of tales, and his first story of the eveninghappened to be about his brother Bill. They had a long chase after abear and became separated. Bill was new at the game, and he was apeculiar fellow anyhow. Much given to talking to himself! Haught finallyrode to the edge of a ridge and espied Bill under a pine in which thehounds had treed a bear. Bill did not hear Haught's approach, and on themoment he was stalking round the pine, swearing at the bear, which clungto a branch about half way up. Then Haught discovered two morefull-grown bears up in the top of the pine, the presence of which Billhad not the remotest suspicion. "Ahuh! you ole black Jasper!" Bill wasyelling. "I treed you an' in a minnit I'm agoin' to assassinate you. Chased me about a hundred miles--! An' thought you'd fool me, didn'tyou? Why, I've treed more bears than you ever saw--! You needn't look atme like thet, 'cause I'm mad as a hornet. I'm agoin' to assassinate youin a minnit an' skin your black har off, I am--"

"Bill, " interrupted Haught, "what are you goin' to do about the othertwo bears up in the top of the tree?"

Bill was amazed to hear and see his brother, and greatly astounded andtremendously elated to discover the other two bears. He yelled and actedas one demented. "Three black Jaspers! I've treed you all. An' I'magoin' to assassinate you all!"

"See here, Bill, " said Haught, "before you begin that assassinatin' makeup your mind not to cripple any of them. You've got to shoot straight, so they'll be dead when they fall. If they're only crippled, they'llkill the hounds. "

Bill was insulted at any suggestions as to his possible poormarksmanship. But this happened to be his first experience with bears intrees. He began to shoot and it took nine shots for him to dislodge thebears. Worse than that they all tumbled out of the tree--apparentlyunhurt. The hounds, of course, attacked them, and there arose aterrible uproar. Haught had to run down to save his dogs. Bill was goingto shoot right into the melee, but Haught knocked the rifle up, andforbid him to use it. Then Bill ran into the thick of the fray to beatoff the hounds. Haught became exceedingly busy himself, and finallydisposed of two of the bears. Then hearing angry bawls and terrificyells he turned to see Bill climbing a tree with a big black beartearing the seat out of his pants. Haught disposed of this bear also. Then he said: "Bill, I thought you was goin' to assassinate them. " Billslid down out of the tree, very pale and disheveled. "By Golly, I'llskin 'em anyhow!"

Haught had another brother named Henry, who had come to Arizona fromTexas, and had brought a half-hound with him. Henry offered to wagerthis dog was the best bear chaser in the country. The general impressionHenry's hound gave was that he would not chase a rabbit. Finally Haughttook his brother Henry and some other men on a bear hunt. There werewagers made as to the quality of Henry's half-hound. When at lastHaught's pack struck a hot scent, and were off with the men riding fastbehind, Henry's half-breed loped alongside his master, paying noattention to the wild baying of the pack. He would look up at Henry asif to say: "No hurry, boss. Wait a little. Then I'll show them!" Heloped along, wagging his tail, evidently enjoying this race with hismaster. After a while the chase grew hotter. Then Henry's half-hound ranahead a little way, and came back to look up wisely, as if to say: "Nottime yet!" After a while, when the chase grew very hot indeed, Henry'swonderful canine let out a wild yelp, darted ahead, overtook the packand took the lead in the chase, literally chewing the heels of the beartill he treed. Haught and his friends lost all the wagers. 

The most remarkable bears in this part of Arizona were what Haughtcalled blue bears, possibly some kind of a cross between brown andblack. This species was a long, slim, blue-furred bear with unusuallylarge teeth and very long claws. So different from ordinary bears thatit appeared another species. The blue bear could run like a greyhound, and keep it up all day and all night. Its power of endurance wasincredible. In Haught's twenty years of hunting there he had seen anumber of blue bears and had killed two. Haught chased one all day withyoung and fast hounds. He went to camp, but the hounds stuck to thechase. Next day Haught followed the hounds and bear from Dude Creek overinto Verde Canyon, back to Dude Creek, and then back to Verde again. Here Haught gave out, and was on his way home when he met the blue bearpadding along as lively as ever. 

I never tired of listening to Haught. He had killed over a hundredbears, many of them vicious grizzlies, and he had often escaped by abreadth of a hair, but the killing stories were not the most interestingto me. Haught had lived a singularly elemental life. He never knew whatto tell me, because I did not know what to ask for, so I just waited forstories, experiences, woodcraft, natural history and the like, to comewhen they would. Once he had owned an old bay horse named Moze. Underany conditions of weather or country Moze could find his way back tocamp. Haught would let go the bridle, and Moze would stick up his ears, look about him, and circle home. No matter if camp had been just whereHaught had last thrown a packsaddle!

When Haught first came to Arizona and began his hunting up over the rimhe used to get down in the cedar country, close to the desert. Here heheard of a pure black antelope that was the leader of a herd of ordinarycolor, which was a grayish white. The day came when Haught saw thisblack antelope. It was a very large, beautiful stag, the most noble andwild and sagacious animal Haught had ever seen. For years he tried tostalk it and kill it, and so did other hunters. But no hunter ever goteven a shot at it. Finally this black antelope disappeared and was neverheard of again. 

By this time Copple had been permitted a long breathing spell, and nowbegan a tale calculated to outdo the Arabian Nights. I envied his mostremarkable imagination. His story had to do with hunting meat for amining camp in Mexico. He got so expert with a rifle that he never aimedat deer. Just threw his gun, as was a habit of gun-fighters! Once thecamp was out of meat, and also he was out of ammunition. Only one shellleft! He came upon a herd of deer licking salt at a deer lick. They weresmall deer and he wanted several or all of them. So he manoeuvred aroundand waited until five of the deer had lined up close together. Then, tomake sure, he aimed so as to send his one bullet through their necks. Killed the whole five in one shot!

We were all reduced to a state of mute helplessness and completely atCopple's mercy. Next he gave us one of his animal tales. He was huntingalong the gulf shore on the coast of Sonora, where big turtles come outto bask in the sun and big jaguars come down to prowl for meat. Onemorning he saw a jaguar jump on the back of a huge turtle, and begin topaw at its neck. Promptly the turtle drew in head and flippers, and wassafe under its shell. The jaguar scratched and clawed at a great rate, but to no avail. Then the big cat turned round and seized the tail ofthe turtle and began to chew it. Whereupon the turtle stuck out itshead, opened its huge mouth and grasped the tail of the jaguar. First togive in was the cat. He let go and let out a squall. But the turtlestarted to crawl off, got going strong, and dragged the jaguar into thesea and drowned him. With naive earnestness Copple assured his mutelisteners that he could show them the exact spot in Sonora where thishappened. 

Retribution inevitably overtakes transgressors. Copple in his immenseloquaciousness was not transgressing much, for he really was no greaterdreamer than I, but the way he put things made us want to see the mightyhunter have a fall. 

We rested the hounds next day, and I was glad to rest myself. Aboutsunset Copple rode up to the rim to look for his mules. We all heard himshoot eight times with his rifle and two with his revolver. Everybodysaid: "Turkeys! Ten turkeys--maybe a dozen, if Copple got two in line!"And we were all glad to think so. We watched eagerly for him, but he didnot return till dark. He seemed vastly sore at himself. What aremarkable hard luck story he told! He had come upon a flock of turkeys, and they were rather difficult to see. All of them were close, andrunning fast. He shot eight times at eight turkeys and missed them all. Too dark--brush--trees--running like deer. Copple had a dozen excuses. Then he saw a turkey on a log ten feet away. He shot twice. The turkeywas a knot, and he had missed even that. 

Thereupon I seized my opportunity and reminded all present how Copplehad called out: "Turkey number one! Turkey number two!" the day I hadmissed so many. Then I said:

"Ben, you must have yelled out to-night like this. " And I raised myvoice high. 

"Turkey number one--Nix!. .. Turkey number two--missed, by Gosh!. .. Turkey number three--never touched him!. .. Turkey number four--No!. .. Turkey number five--Aw, I'm shootin' blank shells!. .. Turkey numbersix on the log--BY THUNDER, I CAN'T SEE STRAIGHT!"

We all had our fun at Copple's expense. The old bear hunter, Haught, rolled on the ground, over and over, and roared in his mirth. 

VII

Early next morning before the sun had tipped the pines with gold I wentdown Barber Shop Canyon with Copple to look for our horses. During thenight our stock had been chased by a lion. We had all been awakened bytheir snorting and stampeding. We found our horses scattered, the burrosgone, and Copple's mules still squared on guard, ready to fight. Coppleassured me that this formation of his mules on guard was an infalliblesign of lions prowling around. One of these mules he had owned for tenyears and it was indeed the most intelligent beast I ever saw in thewoods. 

We found three beaver dams across the brook, one about fifty feet long, and another fully two hundred. Fresh turkey tracks showed in places, andon the top of the longer dam, fresh made in the mud, were lion tracks aslarge as the crown of my hat. How sight of them made me tingle all over!Here was absolute proof of the prowling of one of the great cats. 

Beaver tracks were everywhere. They were rather singular looking tracks, the front feet being five-toed, and the back three-toed, and webbed. Near the slides on the bank the water was muddy, showing that the beaverhad been at work early. These animals worked mostly at night, butsometimes at sunset and sunrise. They were indeed very cautious andwary. These dams had just been completed and no aspens had yet been cutfor food. Beaver usually have two holes to their home, one under thewater, and the other out on the bank. We found one of these outsideburrows and it was nearly a foot wide. 

Upon our return to camp with the horses Haught said he could put up thatlion for us, and from the size of its track he judged it to be a bigone. I did not want to hunt lions and R. C. Preferred to keep afterbears. "Wal, " said Haught, "I'll take an off day an' chase thet lion. Had a burro killed here a couple of years ago. "

So we rode out with the hounds on another bear hunt. Pyle's Canyon layto the east of Dude Creek, and we decided to run it that day. Edd andNielsen started down with the hounds. Copple and I followed shortlyafterward with the intention of descending mid-way, and then workingalong the ridge crests and promontories. The other boys remained on therim to take up various stands as occasion called for. 

I had never been on as steep slopes as these under the rim. They weregrassy, brushy, rocky, but it was their steepness that made them so hardto travel. Right off, half way down, we started a herd of bucks. Thenoise they made sounded like cattle. We found tracks of half a dozen. "Lots of deer under the rim, " declared Copple, his eyes gleaming. "They're feedin' on acorns. Here's where you'll get your big buck. "After that I kept a sharp lookout, arguing with myself that a buck closeat hand was worth a lot of bears down in the brush. 

Presently we changed a direct descent to work gradually along the slopestoward a great level bench covered with pines. We had to cross gravelpatches and pits where avalanches had slid, and at last, gaining thebench we went through the pine grove, out to a manzanita thicket, to arocky point where the ledges were toppling and dangerous. The stand hereafforded a magnificent view. We were now down in the thick of thissloped and canyoned and timbered wildness; no longer above it, and alooffrom it. The dry smell of pine filled the air. When we finally halted tolisten we at once heard the baying of the hounds in the black notchbelow us. We watched and listened. And presently across open patches wesaw the flash of deer, and then Rock and Buck following them. Thus weremy suspicions of Rock fully confirmed. Copple yelled down to Edd thatsome of the hounds were running deer, but apparently Edd was too faraway to hear. 

Still, after a while we heard the mellow tones of Edd's horn, calling inthe hounds. And then he blew the signal to acquaint all of us above thathe was going down around the point to drive the next canyon. Copple andI had to choose between climbing back to the rim or trying to cross theslopes and head the gorges, and ascend the huge ridge that separatedPyle's Canyon from the next canyon. I left the question to Copple, withthe result that we stayed below. 

We were still high up, though when we gazed aloft at the rim we felt sofar down, and the slopes were steep, stony, soft in places and slipperyin others, with deep cuts and patches of manzanita. No stranger was I tothis beautiful treacherous Spanish brush! I shared with Copple a dislikeof it almost equal to that inspired by cactus. We soon were hot, dusty, dry, and had begun to sweat. The immense distances of the place werewhat continually struck me. Distances that were deceptive--that lookedshort and were interminable! That was Arizona. We covered miles in ourdetours and we had to travel fast because we knew Edd could round thebase of the lower points in quick time. 

Above the head of the third gorge Copple and I ran across an enormousbear track, fresh in the dust, leading along an old bear trail. Thistrack measured twelve inches. "He's an old Jasper, as Haught says, "declared Copple. "Grizzly. An' you can bet he heard the dogs an' gotmovin' away from here. But he ain't scared. He was walkin'. "

I forgot the arduous toil. How tight and cool and prickling the feel ofmy skin! The fresh track of a big grizzly would rouse the hunter in anyman. We made sure how fresh this track was by observing twigs and sprigsof manzanita just broken. The wood was green, and wet with sap. OldBruin had not escaped our eyes any too soon. We followed this beartrail, evidently one used for years. It made climbing easy for us. Trusta big, heavy, old grizzly to pick out the best traveling over roughcountry! This fellow, I concluded, had the eye of a surveyor. His trailled gradually toward a wonderful crag-crowned ridge that rolled andheaved down from the rim. It had a dip or saddle in the middle, and rosefrom that to the lofty mesa, and then on the lower side, rose to a bare, round point of gray rock, a landmark, a dome-shaped tower where the godsof that wild region might have kept their vigil. 

Long indeed did it take us to climb up the bear trail to where itcrossed the saddle and went down on the other side into a canyon so deepand wild that it was purple. This saddle was really a remarkableplace--a natural trail and outlet and escape for bears traveling fromone canyon to another. Our bear tracks showed fresh, and we saw wherethey led down a steep, long, dark aisle between pines and spruces to adense black thicket below. The saddle was about twenty feet wide, and oneach side of it rose steep rocks, affording most effective stands for ahunter to wait and watch. 

We rested then, and listened. There was only a little wind, and oftenit fooled us. It sounded like the baying of hounds, and now like thehallooing of men, and then like the distant peal of a horn. By and byeCopple said he heard the hounds. I could not be sure. Soon we indeedheard the deep-sounding, wild bay of Old Dan, the course, sharp, ringingbay of Old Tom, and then, less clear, the chorus from the other hounds. Edd had started them on a trail up this magnificent canyon at our feet. After a while we heard Edd's yell, far away, but clear: "Hi! Hi!" Wecould see a part of the thicket, shaggy and red and gold; and a mile ormore of the opposite wall of the canyon. No rougher, wilder place couldhave been imagined than this steep slope of bluffs, ledges, benches, allmatted with brush, and spotted with pines. Holes and caves and cracksshowed, and yellow blank walls, and bronze points, and green slopes, andweathered slides. 

Soon the baying of the hounds appeared to pass below and beyond us, upthe canyon to our right, a circumstance that worried Copple. "Let's gofarther up, " he kept saying. But I was loath to leave that splendidstand. The baying of the hounds appeared to swing round closer under us;to ring, to swell, to thicken until it was a continuous and melodious, wild, echoing roar. The narrowing walls of the canyon threw the echoesback and forth. 

Presently I espied moving dots, one blue, one brown, on the oppositeslope. They were Haught and his son Edd slowly and laboriously climbingup the steep bluff. How like snails they climbed! Theirs was indeed atask. A yell pealed out now and then, and though it seemed to come froman entirely different direction it surely must have come from theHaughts. Presently some one high on the rim answered with like yells. The chase was growing hotter. 

"They've got a bear up somewhere, " cried Copple, excitedly. And Iagreed with him. 

Then we were startled by the sharp crack of a rifle from the rim. 

"The ball's open! Get your pardners, boys, " exclaimed Copple, withanimation. 

"Ben, wasn't that a. 30 Gov't?" I asked. 

"Sure was, " he replied. "Must have been R. C. Openin' up. Now looksharp!"

I gazed everywhere, growing more excited and thrilled. Another shot fromabove, farther off and from a different rifle, augmented our stirringexpectation. 

Copple left our stand and ran up over the ridge, and then down under andalong the base of a rock wall. I had all I could do to keep up with him. We got perhaps a hundred yards when we heard the spang of Haught's. 30Gov't. Following this his big, hoarse voice bawled out: "He's goin' tothe left--to the left!" That sent us right about face, to climbing, scrambling, running and plunging back to our first stand at the saddle, where we arrived breathless and eager. 

Edd was climbing higher up, evidently to reach the level top of thebluff above, and Haught was working farther up the canyon, climbing alittle. Copple yelled with all his might: "Where's the bear?"

"Bar everywhar!" pealed back Haught's stentorian voice. How the echoesclapped!

Just then Copple electrified me with a wild shout. "Wehow! I seehim. .. . What a whopper!" He threw up his rifle:spang--spang--spang--spang--spang. 

His aim was across the canyon. I heard his bullets strike. I strained myeyes in flashing gaze everywhere. "Where? Where?" I cried, wildly. 

"There!" shouted Copple, keenly, and he pointed across the canyon. "He'sgoin' over the bench--above Edd. .. . Now he's out of sight. Watch justover Edd. He'll cross that bench, go round the head of the littlecanyon, an' come out on the other side, under the bare bluff. .. . Watchsharp-right by that big spruce with the dead top. .. . He's a grizzly an'as big as a horse". 

I looked until my eyes hurt. All I said was: "Ben, you saw game firstto-day". Suddenly a large, dark brown object, furry and grizzled, hugeand round, moved out of the shadow under the spruce and turned to goalong the edge in the open sunlight. 

"Oh! look at him!" I yelled. A strong, hot gust of blood ran all over meand I thrilled till I shook. When I aimed at the bear I could see himthrough the circle of my peep sight, but when I moved the bead of thefront sight upon him it almost covered him up. The distance wasfar--more than a thousand yards--over half a mile--we calculatedafterward. But I tried to draw a bead on the big, wagging brown shapeand fired till my rifle was empty. 

Meanwhile Copple had reloaded. "You watch while I shoot, " he said. "Tellme where I'm hittin'. "

Wonderful was it to see how swiftly he could aim and shoot. I saw a puffof dust. "Low, Ben!" Spang rang his rifle. "High!" Again he shot, widethis time. He emptied his magazine. "Smoke him now!" he shouted, gleefully. "I'll watch while you shoot. "

"It's too far, Ben, " I replied, as I jammed the last shell in thereceiver. 

"No--no. It's only we don't hold right. Aim a little coarse, " saidCopple. "Gee, ain't he some bear! 'No scared tall' as the Jap says. .. . He's one of the old sheep-killers. He'll weigh half a ton. Smoke himnow!"

My excitement was intense. It seemed, however, I was most consumed withadmiration for that grizzly. Not in the least was he afraid. He walkedalong the rough places, trotted along the ledges, and here and there hehalted to gaze below him. I waited for one of these halts, aimed atrifle high, and fired. The grizzly made a quick, angry movement andthen jumped up on a ledge. He jumped like a rabbit. 

"You hit close that time, " yelled Ben. "Hold the same way--a littlecoarser. "

My next bullet struck a puff from rock above the bear, and my third, hitting just in front of him, as he was on a yellow ledge, covered himwith dust. He reared, and wheeling, sheered back and down the step hehad mounted, and disappeared in a clump of brush. I shot into that. Weheard my bullet crack the twigs. But it routed him out, and then my lastshot hit far under him. 

Copple circled his mouth with his hands and bellowed to the Haughts:"Climb! Climb! Hurry! Hurry! He's just above you--under that bluff. "

The Haughts heard, and evidently tried to do all in their power, butthey moved like snails. Then Copple fired five more shots, quick, yetdeliberate, and he got through before I had reloaded; and as I began mythird magazine Copple was so swift in reloading that his first shotmingled with my second. How we made the welkin ring! Wild yells pealeddown from the rim. Somewhere from the purple depths below Nielsen'sgiant's voice rolled up. The Haughts opposite answered with their deep, hoarse yells. Old Dan and Old Tom bayed like distant thunder. The younghounds let out a string of sharp, keen yelps. Copple added his Indiancry, high-pitched and wild, to the pandemonium. But I could not shootand screech at one and the same time. 

"Hurry, Ben, " I said, as I finished my third set of five shots, thelast shot of which was my best and knocked dirt in the face of thegrizzly. 

Again he reared. This time he appeared to locate our direction. Abovethe bedlam of yells and bays and yelps and echoes I imagined I heard thegrizzly roar. He was now getting farther along the base of the bluff, and I saw that he would escape us. My rifle barrel was hot as fire. Myfingers were all thumbs. I jammed a shell into the receiver. My lastchance had fled! But Copple's big, brown, swift hands fed shells to hismagazine as ears of corn go to a grinder. He had a way of poking thebase of a shell straight down into the receiver and making it snapforward and down. Then he fired five more shots as swiftly as he hadreloaded. Some of these hit close to our quarry. The old grizzly slowedup, and looked across, and wagged his huge head. 

"My gun's on fire all right, " said Copple, grimly, as he loaded stillmore rapidly. Carefully he aimed and pulled trigger. The grizzly gave aspasmodic jerk as if stung and suddenly he made a prodigious leap off aledge, down into a patch of brush, where he threshed like a lassoedelephant. 

"Ben, you hit him!" I yelled, excitedly. 

"Only made him mad. He's not hurt. .. . See, he's up again. .. . Will youlook at that!"

The grizzly appeared to roll out of the brush, and like a huge furryball of brown, he bounced down the thicketed slope to an open slidewhere he unrolled, and stretched into a run. Copple got two more shotsbefore he was out of sight. 

"Gone!" ejaculated Copple. "An' we never fetched him!. .. He ain't hurt. Did you see him pile down an' roll off that slope?. .. Let's see. I gottwenty-three shots at him. How many had you?"

"I had fifteen. "

"Say, it was some fun, wasn't it--smokin' him along there? But we oughtto have fetched the old sheep-killer. .. . Wonder what's happened to theother fellows. "

We looked about us. Not improbably the exciting moments had been few innumber, yet they seemed long indeed. The Haughts had gotten to the topof the bluff, and were tearing through the brush toward the point Copplehad designated. They reached it too late. 

"Where is he?" yelled Edd. 

"Gone!" boomed Copple. "Runnin' down the canyon. Call the dogs an' godown after him. "

When the Haughts came out into the open upon that bench one of the pupsand the spotted hound, Rock, were with them. Old Dan and old Tom werebaying up at the head of the canyon, and Sue could be heard yelpingsomewhere else. Bear trails seemingly were abundant near ourwhereabouts. Presently the Haughts disappeared at the back of the benchwhere the old grizzly had gone down, and evidently they put the twohounds on his trail. 

"That grizzly will climb over round the lower end of this ridge, "declared Copple. "We want to be there. "

So we hurriedly left our stand, and taking to the South side of theridge, we ran and walked and climbed and plunged down along the slope. Keeping up with Copple on foot was harder than riding after Edd andGeorge. When soon we reached a manzanita thicket I could no longer keepCopple in sight. He was so powerful that he just crashed through, but Ihad to worm my way, and walk over the tops of the bushes, like atight-rope performer. Of all strong, thick, spiky brush manzanita wasthe worst. 

In half an hour I joined Copple at the point under the dome-topped endof the ridge, only to hear the hounds apparently working back up thecanyon. There was nothing for us to do but return to our stand at thesaddle. Copple hurried faster than ever. But I had begun to tire and Icould not keep up with him. But as I had no wild cravings to meet thatold grizzly face to face all by myself in a manzanita thicket I didmanage by desperate efforts to keep the Indian in sight. When I reachedour stand I was wet and exhausted. After the hot, stifling, dusty glareof the yellow slope and the burning of the manzanita brush, the coolshade was a welcome change. 

Somewhere all the hounds were baying. Not for some time could we locatethe Haughts. Finally with the aid of my glass we discovered them perchedhigh upon the bluff above where our grizzly had gone round. It appearedthat Edd was pointing across the canyon and his father was manifesting akeen interest. We did not need the glass then to tell that they saw abear. Both leveled their rifles and fired, apparently across the canyon. Then they stood like statues. 

"I'll go down into the thicket, " said Copple. "Maybe I can get a shot. An' anyway I want to see our grizzly's tracks. " With that he starteddown, and once on the steep bear trail he slid rather than walked, andsoon was out of my sight. After that I heard him crashing throughthicket and brush. Soon this sound ceased. The hounds, too, had quitbaying and the wind had lulled. Not a rustle of a leaf! All the hunterswere likewise silent. I enjoyed a lonely hour there watching andlistening, not however without apprehensions of a bear coming along. Certain I was that this canyon, which I christened Bear Canyon, had beenfull of bears. 

At length I espied Copple down on the edge of the opposite slope. Theway he toiled along proved how rough was the going. I watched himthrough my glasses, and was again impressed with the strange differencebetween the semblance of distance and the reality. Every few stepsCopple would halt to rest. He had to hold on to the brush and in thebare places where he could not reach a bush he had to dig his heels intothe earth to keep from sliding down. In time he ascended to the placewhere our grizzly had rolled down, and from there he yelled up to theHaughts, high above him. They answered, and soon disappeared on the farside of the bluff. Copple also disappeared going round under the wall ofyellow rock. Perhaps in fifteen minutes I heard them yell, and then awild clamor of the hounds. Some of the pack had been put on the trail ofour grizzly; but gradually the sound grew farther away. 

This was too much for me. I decided to go down into the canyon. Forthwith I started. It was easy to go down! As a matter of fact it washard not to slide down like a streak. That long, dark, narrow aislebetween the spruces had no charm for me anyway. Suppose I should meet abear coming up as I was sliding down! I sheered off and left the trail, and also Copple's tracks. This was a blunder. I came out into more openslope, but steeper, and harder to cling on. Ledges cropped out, cliffsand ravines obstructed my passage and trees were not close enough tohelp me much. Some long slopes of dark, mossy, bare earth I actually randown, trusting to light swift steps rather than slow careful ones. Itwas exhilarating, that descent under the shady spruces. The lower down Igot the smaller and more numerous the trees. I could see where they leftoff to the dense thicket that choked the lower part of the v-shapedcanyon. And I was amazed at the size and density of that jungle of scruboaks, maples and aspens. From above the color was a blaze of scarlet andgold and green, with bronze tinge. 

Presently I crossed a fresh bear track, so fresh that I could see thedampness of the dark earth, the rolling of little particles, thespringing erect of bent grasses. In some places big sections of earth, ayard wide had slipped under the feet of this particular bear. Heappeared to be working down. Right then I wanted to go up! But I couldnot climb out there. I had to go down. Soon I was under low-spreading, dense spruces, and I had to hold on desperately to keep from sliding. All the time naturally I kept a keen lookout for a bear. Every stone andtree trunk resembled a bear. I decided if I met a grizzly that I wouldnot annoy him on that slope. I would say: "Nice bear, I won't hurt you!"Still the situation had some kind of charm. But to claim I was notfrightened would not be strictly truthful. I slid over the trail of thatbear into the trail of another one, and under the last big spruce onthat part of the slope I found a hollow nest of pine needles and leaves, and if that bed was not still warm then my imagination lent considerableto the moment. 

Beyond this began the edge of the thicket. It was small pine at first, so close together that I had to squeeze through, and as dark astwilight. The ground was a slant of brown pine needles, so slippery, that if I could not have held on to trees and branches I never wouldhave kept my feet. In this dark strip I had more than apprehensions. What a comfortable place to encounter an outraged or wounded grizzlybear! The manzanita thicket was preferable. But as Providence would haveit I did not encounter one. 

Soon I worked or wormed out of the pines into the thicket of scrub oaks, maples and aspens. The change was welcome. Not only did the slopelengthen out, but the light changed from gloom to gold. There was half afoot of scarlet, gold, bronze, red and purple leaves on the ground, andevery step I made I kicked acorns about to rustle and roll. Bear signwas everywhere, tracks and trails and beds and scratches. I kept goingdown, and the farther down I got the lighter it grew, and moreapproaching a level. One glade was strangely luminous and beautiful witha blending of gold and purple light made by the sun shining through theleaves overhead down upon the carpet of leaves on the ground. Then Icame into a glade that reminded me of Kipling's moonlight dance of thewild elephants. Here the leaves and fern were rolled and matted flat, smooth as if done by a huge roller. Bears and bears had lolled and sleptand played there. A little below this glade was a place, shady and cool, where a seep of water came from under a bank. It looked like a herd ofcattle had stamped the earth, only the tracks were bear tracks. Littleones no longer than a child's hand, and larger, up to huge tracks a footlong and almost as wide. Many were old, but some were fresh. This littlespot smelled of bear so strongly that it reminded me of the bear pen inthe Bronx Park Zoological Garden. I had been keen for sight of beartrails and scent of bear fur, but this was a little too much. I thoughtit was too much because the place was lonely and dark and absolutelysilent. I went on down to the gully that ran down the middle of thecanyon. It was more open here. The sun got through, and there were somebig pines. 

I could see the bluff that the Haughts had climbed so laboriously, andnow I understood why they had been so slow. It was straight up, brushand jumbled rock, and two hundred feet over my head. Somewhere abovethat bluff was the bluff where our bear had run along. 

I rested and listened for the dogs. There was no wind to deceive me, butI imagined I heard dogs everywhere. It seemed unwise for me to go ondown the canyon, for if I did not meet the men I would find myself lost. As it was I would have my troubles climbing out. 

I chose a part of the thicket some distance above where I had come down, hoping to find it more open, if not less steep, and not so vastlyinhabited with bears. Lo and behold it was worse! It was thicker, darker, wilder, steeper and there was, if possible, actually more bearsign. I had to pull myself up by holding to the trees and branches. Ihad to rest every few steps. I had to watch and listen all the time. Half-way up the trunks of the aspens and oaks and maples were all bentdown-hill. They curved out and down before the rest of the tree stoodupright. And all the brush was flat, bending down hill, and absolutelyalmost impassable. This feature of tree and brush was of course causedby the weight of snow in winter. It would have been more interesting ifI had not been so anxious to get up. I grew hotter and wetter than I hadbeen in the manzanitas. Moreover, what with the labor and worry andexhaustion, my apprehensions had increased. They increased until I hadto confess that I was scared. Once I heard a rustle and pad on theleaves somewhere below. That made matters worse. Surely I would meet abear. I would meet him coming down-hill! And I must never shoot a bearcoming down-hill! Buffalo Jones had cautioned me on that score, so hadScott Teague, the bear hunter of Colorado, and so had Haught. "Don'tnever shoot no ole bar comin' down hill, 'cause if you do he'll justroll up an' pile down on you!"

I climbed until my tongue hung out and my heart was likely to burst. Then when I had to straddle a tree to keep from sliding down I gotdesperate and mad and hoped an old grizzly would happen along to make anend to my misery. 

It took me an hour to climb up that part of the slope which constitutedthe thicket of oak, maple and aspen. It was half-past three when finallyI reached the saddle where we had shot at the grizzly. I rested as longas I dared. I had still a long way to go up that ridge to the rim, andhow did I know whether or not I could surmount it. 

However, a good rest helped to revive strength and spirit. Then Istarted. Once above the saddle I was out clear in the open, high abovethe canyons, and the vast basin still farther below, yet far indeedunder the pine-fringed rim above. This climb was all over stone. Theridge was narrow-crested, yellow, splintered rock, with a few dwarfpines and spruces and an occasional bunch of manzanita. I did not hear asound that I did not make myself. Whatever had become of the hounds, andthe other hunters? The higher I climbed the more I liked it. After anhour I was sure that I could reach the rim by this route, and of coursethat stimulated me. To make sure, and allay doubt, I sat down on a highbackbone of bare rock and studied the heave and bulge of ridge above me. Using my glasses I made sure that I could climb out. It would be a taskequal to those of lion-hunting days with Jones, and it made me happy torealize that despite the intervening ten years I was still equal to thetask. 

Once assured of this I grew acute to the sensations of the hour. Thiswas one of my especial joys of the open--to be alone high on somepromontory, above wild and beautiful scenery. The sun was still an hourfrom setting, and it had begun to soften, to grow intense, and moregolden. There were clouds and lights that promised a magnificent sunset. 

So I climbed on. When I stopped to rest I would shove a stone loose andwatch it heave and slide, and leap out and hurtle down, to make thedust fly, and crash into the thickets, and eventually start an avalanchethat would roar down into the canyon. 

The Tonto Basin seemed a vast bowl of rolling, rough, black ridges andcanyons, green and dark and yellow, with the great mountain rangesenclosing it to south and west. The black-fringed promontories of therim, bold and rugged, leagues apart, stood out over the void. The colorsof autumn gleamed under the cliffs, everywhere patches of gold and longslants of green and spots of scarlet and clefts of purple. 

The last benches of that ridge taxed my waning strength. I had to stepup, climb up, pull myself up, by hand and knee and body. My rifle grewto weigh a ton. My cartridge belt was a burden of lead around my waist. If I had been hot and wet below in the thicket I wondered what I grew onthe last steps of this ridge. Yet even the toil and the pain held a keenpleasure. I did not analyze my feelings then, but it was good to bethere. 

The rim-rock came out to a point above me, seeming unscalable, all grownover with brush and lichen, and stunted spruce. But by hauling myselfup, and crawling here, and winding under bridges of rock there, andholding to the brush, at last, panting and spent, I reached the top. 

I was ready to drop on the mats of pine needles and lie there, unutterably grateful for rest, when I heard Old Tom baying, deep andringing and close. He seemed right under the rim on the side of theridge opposite to where I had climbed. I looked around. There wasGeorge's horse tied to a pine, and farther on my own horse Stockings. 

Then I walked to the rim and looked down into the gold and scarletthicket. Actually it seemed to me then, and always will seem, that thefirst object I clearly distinguished was a big black bear standing inan open aisle at the upper reach of the thicket close to the cliff. Heshone black as shiny coal. He was looking down into the thicket, as iflistening to the baying hound. 

I could not repress an exclamation of surprise and thrilling excitement, and I uttered it as I raised my rifle. Just the instant I saw hisshining fur through the circle of my rear sight he heard me and jumped, and my bullet missed him. Like a black flash he was gone around a cornerof gray ledge. 

"Well!" I ejaculated, suddenly weak. "After all this long day--to get achance like that--and miss!"

All that seemed left of that long day was the sunset, out of which Icould not be cheated by blunders or bad luck. Westward a glorious goldenball blazed over the rim. Above that shone an intense belt ofcolor--Coleridge's yellow lightning--and it extended to a bank of cloudthat seemed transparent purple, and above all this flowed a sea ofpurest blue sky with fleecy sails of pink and white and rose, exquisitely flecked with gold. 

Lost indeed was I to weariness and time until the gorgeoustransformation at last ended in dull gray. I walked along the rim, backto where I had tied my horse. He saw me and whinnied before I locatedthe spot. I just about had strength enough left to straddle him. Andpresently through the twilight shadows I caught a bright glimmer of ourcamp-fire. Supper was ready; Takahashi grinned his concern away; all themen were waiting for me; and like the Ancient Mariner I told my tale. AsI sat to a bountiful repast regaling myself, the talk of my companionsseemed absolutely satisfying. 

George Haught, on a stand at the apex of the canyon, had heard and seena big brown bear climbing up through the thicket, and he had overshotand missed. R. C. Had espied a big black bear walking a slide some fourhundred yards down the canyon slope, and forgetting that he had a heavyclose-range shell in his rifle instead of one of high trajectory, he hadaimed accordingly, to undershoot half a foot and thus lose hisopportunity. Nielsen had been lost most of the day. It seemed everywherehe heard yells and bays down in the canyon, and once he had heard a loudrattling crash of a heavy bear tearing through the thicket. Edd told ofthe fearful climb he and his father had made, how they had shot at thegrizzly a long way off, how funny another bear had rolled around in hisbed across the canyon. But the hounds got too tired to hold the trailslate in the day. And lastly Edd said: "When you an' Ben were smokin' thegrizzly I could hear the bullets hit close above us, an' I was surescared stiff for fear you'd roll him down on us. But father wasn'tscared. He said, 'let the old Jasper roll down! We'll assassinate him!'"

When the old bear hunter began to tell his part in the day's adventuresmy pleasure was tinglingly keen and nothing was wanting on the momentexcept that my boy Romer was not there to hear. 

"Wal, shore it was an old bar day, " said Haught, with quaintsatisfaction. His blue shirt, ragged and torn and black from brush, surely attested to the truth of his words. "All told we seen five bars. Two blacks, two browns an' the old Jasper. Some of them big fellars, too. But we missed seein' the boss bar of this canyon. When Old Danopened up first off I wanted Edd to climb thet bluff. But Edd kept goin'an' we lost our chance. Fer pretty soon we heard a bustin' of the brush. My, but thet bar was rockin' her off. He knocked the brush like a wildsteer, an' he ran past us close--not a hundred yards. I never heard aheavier bar. But we couldn't see him. Then Edd started up, an' thetbluff was a wolf of a place. We was half up when I seen the grizzly thetyou an' Ben smoked afterward. He was far off, but Edd an' I lammed acouple after him jest for luck. One of the pups was nippin' his heels. Think it was Big Foot. .. . Wal, thet was all of thet. We plumb bustedourselves gettin' on top of the bench to head off your bar. Only wehadn't time. Then we worried along around to the top of thet higherbluff an' there I was so played-out I thought my day had come. We keptour eyes peeled, an' pretty soon I spied a big brown bar actin' queer inan open spot across the canyon. Edd seen him too, an' we argued aboutwhat thet bar was doin'. He lay in a small open place at the foot of aspruce. He wagged his head slow an' he made as if to roll over, an' hestretched his paws, an' acted shore queer. Edd said: 'Thet bar'scrippled. He's been shot by one of the boys, an' he's tryin' to get up. 'But I shore didn't exactly agree with Edd. So I was for watchin' himsome more. He looked like a sick bar--raisin' his head so slow an'droppin' it so slow an' sort of twistin' his body. He looked like hisback had been broke an' he was tryin' to get up, but somehow I couldn'tbelieve thet. Then he lay still an' Edd swore he was dead. Shore I gotalmost to believin' thet myself, when he waked up. An' then the oldscoundrel slid around lazy like a torn cat by the fire, and sort ofrolled on his back an' stretched. Next he slapped at himself with hispaws. If he wasn't sick he was shore actin' queer with thet canyon fullof crackin' guns an' bayin' hounds an' yellin' men. I begun to getsuspicious. Shore he must be a dyin' bear. So I said to Edd: 'Let's basthim a couple just fer luck. ' Wal, when we shot up jumped thet sick barquicker'n you could wink. An' he piled into the thicket while I wasgoin' down after another shell. .. . It shore was funny. Thet old Jaspernever heard the racket, an' if he heard it he didn't care. He had a bedin thet sunny spot an' he was foolin' around, playin' with himself likea kitten. Playin'! An' Edd reckoned he was dyin' an' I come shore nearbein' fooled. The old Jasper! We'll assassinate him fer thet!"

VIII

Five more long arduous days we put in chasing bears under the rim fromPyle's Canyon to Verde Canyon. In all we started over a dozen bears. ButI was inclined to think that we chased the same bears over and over fromone canyon to another. The boys got a good many long-range shots, which, however, apparently did no damage. But as for me, the harder and fartherI tramped and the longer I watched and waited the less opportunity had Ito shoot a bear. 

This circumstance weighed heavily upon the spirits of my comrades. Theywore their boots out, as well as the feet of the hounds, trying to chasea bear somewhere near me. And wherever I stayed or went there was theplace the bears avoided. Edd and Neilsen lost flesh in this daily toil. Haught had gloomy moments. But as for me the daily ten-or fifteen-milegrind up and down the steep craggy slopes had at last trained me back tomy former vigorous condition, and I was happy. No one knew it, not evenR. C. , but the fact was I really did not care in the least whether I shota bear or not. Bears were incidental to my hunting trip. I had not alittle secret glee over the praise accorded me by Copple and Haught andNielsen, who all thought that the way I persevered was remarkable. Theywould have broken their necks to get me a bear. At times R. C. When hewas tired fell victim to discouragement and he would make some causticremark: "I don't know about you. I've a hunch you like to pack a riflebecause it's heavy. And you go dreaming along! Sometime a bear will riseup and swipe you one!"

Takahashi passed from concern to grief over what he considered my badluck: "My goodnish! No see bear to-day?. .. Maybe more better luckto-morrow. " If I could have had some of Takahashi's luck I wouldscarcely have needed to leave camp. He borrowed Nielsen's 30-40 rifleand went hunting without ever having shot it. He rode the littlebuckskin mustang, that, remarkable to state, had not yet thrown him orkicked him. And on that occasion he led the mustang back to camp with afine two-point buck on the saddle. "Camp need fresh meat, " said the Jap, with his broad smile. "I go hunt. Ride along old road. Soon nice fatdeer walk out from bush. Twenty steps away--maybe. I get off. I no wantkill deer so close, so I walk on him. Deer he no scared. He jump off fewsteps--stick up his ears--look at horse all same like he thought himdeer too. I no aim gun from shoulder. I just shoot. No good. Deer herun. I aim then--way front of him--shoot--deer he drop right downdead. .. . Aw, easy to get deer!"

I would have given a great deal to have been able to describe Haught'sface when the Jap finished his story of killing that deer. But such featwas beyond human ingenuity. "Wal, " ejaculated the hunter, "in all mydays raslin' round with fools packin' guns I never seen the likes ofthet. No wonder the Japs licked the Russians!" This achievement ofTakahashi's led me to suggest his hunting bear with us. "Aw sure--I killbear too, " he said. Takahashi outwalked and outclimbed us all. He nevermade detours. He climbed straight up or descended straight down. Coppleand Edd were compelled to see him take the lead and keep it. What awonderful climber! What a picture the sturdy little brown man made, carrying a rifle longer than himself, agile and sure-footed as a goat, perfectly at home in the depths or on the heights! I took occasion toask Takahashi if he had been used to mountain climbing in Japan. "Awsure. I have father own whole mountain more bigger here. I climbhigh--saw wood. Leetle boy so big. " And he held his hand about a footfrom the ground. Thus for me every day brought out some furtherinteresting or humorous or remarkable feature pertaining to Takahashi. 

The next day added to the discouragement of my party. We drove VerdeCanyon and ran the dogs into a nest of steel-traps. Big Foot was caughtin one, and only the remarkable size and strength of his leg saved itfrom being broken. Nielsen found a poor, miserable, little fox in atrap, where it had been for days, and was nearly dead. Edd found a deadskunk in another. He had to call the hounds in. We returned to camp. That night was really the only cheerless one the men spent around thefire. They did not know what to do. Manifestly with trappers in alocality there could be no more bear chasing. Disappointment perchedupon the countenances of the Haughts and Copple and Nielsen. I let themall have their say. Finally Haught spoke up: "Wal, fellars, I'mfiggerin' hard an' I reckon here's my stand. We jest naturally have toget Doc an' his brother a bear apiece. Shore I expected we'd get 'em acouple. Now, them traps we seen are all small. We didn't run across nobear traps. An' I reckon we can risk the dogs. We'll shore go back an'drive Verde Canyon. We can't do no worse than break a leg for a dog. I'dhate to see thet happen to Old Dan or Tom. But we'll take a chance. "

After that there fell a moment's silence. I could see from Edd's facewhat a serious predicament this was. Nothing was plainer than hisfondness for the hounds. Finally he said: "Sure. We'll take a chance. "Their devotion to my interest, their simple earnestness, warmed me tothem. But not for all the bears under the rim would I have beenwittingly to blame for Old Dan or Old Tom breaking a leg. 

"Men, I've got a better plan, " I said. "We'll let the bears here restfor a spell. Supplies are about gone. Let's go back to Beaver Dam campfor a week or so. Rest up the hounds. Maybe we'll have a storm and acold snap that will improve conditions. Then we'll come back here. I'llsend Haught down to buy off the trappers. I'll pay them to spring theirtraps and let us have our hunt without risk of the hounds. "

Instantly the men brightened. The insurmountable obstacles seemed tomelt away. Only Haught demurred a little at additional and unreasonableexpense for me. But I cheered him over this hindrance, and the last partof that evening round the camp-fire was very pleasant. 

The following morning we broke camp, and all rode off, except Haught andhis son George, who remained to hunt a strayed burro. "Reckon thet lioneat him. My best burro. He was the one your boy was always playin' with. I'm goin' to assassinate thet lion. "

On the way back to Beaver Dam camp I happened to be near Takahashi whenhe dismounted to shoot at a squirrel. Returning to get back in thesaddle the Jap forgot to approach the mustang from the proper side. There was a scuffle between Takahashi and the mustang as to which ofthem should possess the bridle. The Jap lost this argument. Edd had torepair the broken bridle. I watched Takahashi and could see that he didnot like the mustang any better than the mustang liked him. Soon thestruggle for supremacy would take place between this ill assorted riderand horse. I rather felt inclined to favor the latter; nevertheless itwas only fair to Takahashi to admit that his buckskin-colored mustanghad some mean traits. 

In due time I arrived at our permanent camp, to be the last to get in. Lee and his father welcomed us as familiar faces in a strange land. As Idismounted I heard heavy thuds and cracks accompanied by fierceutterances in a foreign tongue. These sounds issued from the corral. 

"I'll bet the Jap got what was coming to him, " declared Lee. 

We all ran toward the corral. A bunch of horses obstructed our view, andwe could not see Takahashi until we ran round to the other side. The Japhad the buckskin mustang up in a corner and was vigorously whacking himwith a huge pole. Not by any means was the mustang docile. Like a mule, he kicked. "Hey George, " yelled Lee, "don't kill him! What's thematter?"

Takahashi slammed the mustang one parting blow, which broke the club, and then he turned to us. We could see from dust and dirt on his personthat he had lately been in close relation to the earth. Takahashi's facewas pale except for a great red lump on his jaw. The Jap was terriblyangry. He seemed hurt, too. With a shaking hand he pointed to the bruiseon his jaw. 

"Look what he do!" exclaimed Takahashi. "He throw me off!. .. He kick meawful hard! I kill him sure next time. "

Lee and I managed to conceal our mirth until our irate cook had gottenout of hearing. "Look--what--he--do!" choked Lee, imitating Takahashi. Then Lee broke out and roared. I had to join him. I laughed till Icried. My family and friends severely criticise this primitive trait ofmine, but I can not help it. Later I went to Takahashi and asked toexamine his jaw, fearing it might have been broken. This fear of mine, however, was unfounded. Moreover the Jap had recovered from his pain andanger. "More better now, " he said, with a grin. "Maybe my fault anyhow. "

Next day we rested, and the following morning was so fine and clear andfrosty that we decided to go hunting. We rode east on the way to SeeLake through beautiful deep forest. 

I saw a deer trotting away into the woods. I jumped off, jerked out mygun, and ran hard, hoping to see him in an opening. Lo! I jumped a herdof six more deer, some of them bucks. They plunged everywhere. I triedfrantically to get my sights on one. All I could aim at was bobbingears. I shot twice, and of course missed. R. C. Shot four times, once ata running buck, and three at a small deer that he said was flying!

Here Copple and Haught caught up with us. We went on, and turned off theroad on the blazed trail to See Lake. It was pretty open forest, oaksand scattered pines, and a few spruce. The first park we came to was aflat grassy open, with places where deer licked the bare earth. Coppleleft several pounds of salt in these spots. R. C. And I went up to theupper end where he had seen deer before. No deer this day! But saw threeturkeys, one an old gobbler. We lost sight of them. 

Then Copple and R. C. Went one way and Haught and I another. We wentclear to the rim, and then circled around, and eventually met R. C. AndCopple. Together we started to return. Going down a little draw we foundwater, and R. C. Saw where a rock had been splashed with water and wasstill wet. Then I saw a turkey track upon this rock. We slipped up theslope, with me in the lead. As I came out on top, I saw five biggobblers feeding. Strange how these game birds thrilled me! One saw meand started to run. Like a streak! Another edged away into pines. Then Iespied one with his head and neck behind a tree and he was scratchingaway in the pine needles. I could not see much of him, but that littlewas not running, so I drew down upon him, tried to aim fine, and fired. He leaped up with a roar of wings, sending the dust and needles flying. Then he dropped back, and like a flash darted into a thicket. 

Another flew straight out of the glade. Another ran like an ostrich inthe same direction. I tried to get the sights on him. In vain!

R. C. And Copple chased these two speeding turkeys, and Haught and I wentthe other way. We could find no trace of ours. And we returned to ourhorses. 

Presently we heard shots. One--two--three--pause--then several more. Andfinally more, to a total number of fifteen. I could not stand that and Ihad to hurry back into the woods. I saw one old gobbler running wildlyaround as if lost, but I did not shoot at him because he seemed to be inline with the direction which R. C. And Copple had taken. I should haverun after him until he went some other way. 

I could not find the hunters, and returned to our resting place, whichthey had reached ahead of me. They had a turkey each, gobblers about twoyears old Copple said. 

R. C. Told an interesting story of how he had run in the direction thetwo turkeys had taken, and suddenly flushed thirty or forty more, somebig old gobblers, but mostly young. They scattered and ran. He followedas fast as he could, shooting a few times. Copple could not keep up withhim, but evidently had a few shots himself. R. C. Chased most of theflock across several small canyons, till he came to a deep canyon. Herehe hoped to make a killing when the turkeys ran up the far slope. Butthey flew across! And he heard them clucking over there. He crossed, andwent on cautiously. Once he saw three turkey heads sticking above a log. Wise old gobblers! They protected their bodies while they watched forhim. He tried to get sidewise to them but they ran off. Then he followeduntil once more he heard clucking. 

Here he sat down, just beyond the edge of a canyon, and began to callwith his turkey wing. It thrilled him to hear his calls answered on allsides. Here was a wonderful opportunity. He realized that the turkeyswere mostly young and scattered, and frightened, and wanted to cometogether. He kept calling, and as they neared him on all sides he feltsomething more than the zest of hunting. Suddenly Copple began to shoot. Spang! Spang! Spang! R. C. Saw the dust fly under one turkey. He heardthe bullet glance. The next shot killed a turkey. Then R. C. Yelled thathe was no turkey! Then of that scattering flock he managed to knock overone for himself. 

Copple had been deceived by the call of an amateur. That flattered R. C. , but he was keenly disappointed that Copple had spoiled the situation. 

During the day the blue sky was covered by thin flying clouds thatgradually thickened and darkened. The wind grew keener and colder, andveered to the southwest. We all said storm. There was no sunset Darkerclouds rolled up, obliterating the few stars. 

We went to bed. Long after that I heard the swell and roar and crash andlull of the wind in the pines, a sound I had learned to love in BuckskinForest with Buffalo Jones. At last I fell asleep. 

Sometime in the night I awoke. A fine rain was pattering on the tent. It grew stronger. After a while I went to sleep again. Upon awakening Ifound that the storm had struck with a vengeance. It was dull graydaylight, foggy, cold, windy, with rain and snow. 

I got up, built a fire, puttered around the tents to loosen the groundropes, and found that it was nipping cold. My fingers ached. The stormincreased, and then we fully appreciated the tent with stove. The rainroared on the tent roof, and all morning the wind increased, and the airgrew colder. I hoped it would turn to snow. 

Soon indeed we were storm bound. On the third day the wind reached avery high velocity. The roar in the pines was stupendous. Many times Iheard the dull crash of a falling tree. With the ground saturated by thecopious rain, and the fury of the storm blast, a great many trees werefelled. That night it rained all night, not so hard, but steadily, nowlow, now vigorously. After morning snow began to fall. But it did notlay long. After a while it changed to sleet. At times the dark, lowering, scurrying clouds broke to emit a flare of sunshine and to showa patch of blue. These last however were soon obscured by the scuddinggray pall. Every now and then a little shower of rain or sleet patteredon the tents. We looked for a clearing up. 

That night about eight o'clock the clouds vanished and stars shone. Inthe night the wind rose and roared. In the morning all was dark, cloudy, raw, cold. But the wind had died out, and there were spots of blueshowing. These spots enlarged as the morning advanced, and about ninethe sun, golden and dazzling, beautified the forest. "Bright sunny dayswill soon come again!"

It was good to have hope and belief in that. 

All the horses but Don Carlos weathered the storm in good shape. Donlost considerable weight. He had never before been left with hobbledfeet to shift for himself in a prolonged storm of rain, sleet and snow. He had cut himself upon brush, and altogether had fared poorly. Heshowed plainly that he had been neglected. Don was the only horse I hadever known of that did not welcome the wilderness and companionship withhis kind. 

We rested the following day, and on the next we packed and started backto Dude Creek. It was a cold, raw, bitter day, with a gale from thenorth, such a day as I could never have endured had I not becomehardened. As it was I almost enjoyed wind and cold. What atransformation in the woods! The little lakes were all frozen over;pines, moss, grass were white with frost. The sear days had come. Not aleaf showed in the aspen and maple thickets. The scrub oaks were shaggyand ragged, gray as the rocks. From the rim the slopes looked steely anddark, thinned out, showing the rocks and slides. 

When we reached our old camp in Barber Shop Canyon we were all glad tosee Haught's lost burro waiting for us there. Not a scratch showed onthe shaggy lop-eared little beast. Haught for once unhobbled a burro andset it free without a parting kick. Nielsen too had observed thisomission on Haught's part. Nielsen was a desert man and he knew burros. He said prospectors were inclined to show affection for burros by sundrycuffs and kicks. And Nielsen told me a story about Haught. It seemed thebear hunter was noted for that habit of kicking burros. Sometimes he wasin fun and sometimes, when burros were obstinate, he was in earnest. Upon one occasion a big burro stayed away from camp quite a longtime--long enough to incur Haught's displeasure. He needed the burro andcould not find it, and all he could do was to hunt for it. Uponreturning to camp there stood the big gray burro, lazy and fat, just asif he had been perfectly well behaved. Haught put a halter on the burro, using strong language the while, and then he proceeded to exercise hishabit of kicking burros. He kicked this one until its fat belly gaveforth sounds exceedingly like a bass drum. When Haught had ended hisexercise he tied up the burro. Presently a man came running intoHaught's camp. He appeared alarmed. He was wet and panting. Haughtrecognized him as a miner from a mine nearby. "Hey Haught, " panted theminer, "hev you seen--your gray burro--thet big one--with white face?"

"Shore, there he is, " replied Haught. "Son of a gun jest rustled home. "

The miner appeared immensely relieved. He looked and looked at the grayburro as if to make sure it was there, in the solid flesh, a reallytangible object. Then he said: "We was all afeared you'd kick thestuffin's out of him!. .. Not an hour ago he was over at the mine, an' heate five sticks of dynamite! Five sticks! For Lord's sake handle himgently!"

Haught turned pale and suddenly sat down. "Ahuh!" was all he said. Buthe had a strange hunted look. And not for a long time did he ever againkick a burro!

 * * * * *

Hunting conditions at Dude Creek had changed greatly to our benefit. Thetrappers had pulled up stakes and gone to some other section of thecountry. There was not a hunting party within fifteen miles of our camp. Leaves and acorns were all down; trails were soft and easy to travel; nodust rose on the southern slopes; the days were cold and bright; inevery pocket and ravine there was water for the dogs; from any stand wecould see into the shaggy thickets where before all we could see was ablaze of color. 

In three days we drove Pyle's Canyon, Dude Creek, and the smalladjoining canyons, chasing in all nine bears, none of which ran anywherenear R. C. Or me. Old Dan gave out and had to rest every other day. Sothe gloom again began to settle thick over the hopes of my faithfulfriends. Long since, as in 1918, I had given up expectations of bagginga bear or a buck. For R. C. , however, my hopes still held good. At leastI did not give up for him. But he shared somewhat the feelings of themen. Still he worked harder than ever, abandoning the idea of waiting onone of the high stands, and took to the slopes under the rim where hetoiled down and up all day long. It pleased me to learn, presently, thatthis activity, strenuous as it was, became a source of delight to him. How different such toil was from waiting and watching on the rim!

On November first, a bitter cold morning, with ice in the bright air, wewent back to Pyle's Canyon, and four of us went down with Edd and thehounds. We had several chases, and about the middle of the forenoon Ifound myself alone, making tracks for the saddle over-looking BearCanyon. Along the south side of the slope, in the still air the sun waswarm, but when I got up onto the saddle, in an exposed place, the windsoon chilled me through. I would keep my stand until I nearly froze, then I had to go around to the sunny sheltered side and warm up. Thehounds finally got within hearing again, and eventually appeared to bein Bear Canyon, toward the mouth. I decided I ought to go round theridge on the east side and see if I could hear better. Accordingly I setoff, and the hard going over the sunny slope was just what I needed. When I reached the end of the ridge, under the great dome, I heard thehounds below me, somewhat to my left. Running and plowing down throughthe brush I gained the edge of the bluff, just in time to see some ofthe hounds passing on. They had run a bear through that thicket, and ifI had been there sooner I would have been fortunate. But too late! Iworked around the head of this canyon and across a wide promontory. Again I heard the hounds right under me. They came nearer, and soon Iheard rolling rocks and cracking brush, which sounds I believed weremade by a bear. After a while I espied Old Tom and Rock working up thecanyon on a trail. Then I was sure I would get a shot. Presently, however, Old Tom left the trail and started back. Rock came on, climbedthe ridge, and hearing me call he came to me. I went over to the placewhere he had climbed out and found an enormous bear track pointing inthe direction the hounds had come. They had back-trailed him. Rock wentback to join Old Tom. Some of the pack were baying at a great rate inthe mouth of the next canyon. But an impassable cliff prevented me fromworking around to that point. So I had to address myself to the longsteep climb upward. I had not gone far when I crossed the huge beartrack that Rock and Old Tom had given up. This track was six inches wideand ten inches long. The bear that had made it had come down this verymorning from over the ridge east of Bear Canyon. I trailed him up thisridge, over the steepest and roughest and wildest part of it, marvelingat the enormous steps and jumps he made, and at the sagacity whichcaused him to choose this route instead of the saddle trail where I hadwaited so long. His track led up nearly to the rim and proved how he hadclimbed over the most rugged break in the ridge. Indeed he was one ofthe wise old scoundrels. When I reached camp I learned that Sue andseveral more of the hounds had held a bear for some time in the box ofthe canyon just beyond where I had to give up. Edd and Nielsen wereacross this canyon, unable to go farther, and then yelled themselveshoarse, trying to call some of us. I asked Edd if he saw the bear. "Suredid, " replied Edd. "One of them long, lean, hungry cinnamons. " I had tolaugh, and told how near I had come to meeting a bear that was short, fat, and heavy: "One of the old Jasper scoundrels!"

That night at dark the wind still blew a gale, and seemed more bitterlycold. We hugged the camp-fire. My eyes smarted from the smoke and myface grew black. Before I went to bed I toasted myself so thoroughlythat my clothes actually burned me as I lay down. But they heated theblankets and that made my bed snug and soon I was in the land of dreams. During the night I awoke. The wind had lulled. The canopy above wasclear, cold, starry, beautiful. When we rolled out the mercury showedten above zero. Perhaps looking at the thermometer made us feel colder, but in any event we would have had to move about to keep warm. I built afire and my hands were blocks of ice when I got the blaze stirring. 

That day, so keen and bright, so wonderful with its clarity ofatmosphere and the breath of winter through the pines, promised to be asexciting as it was beautiful. Maybe this day R. C. Would bag a bear!

When we reached the rim the sunrise was just flushing the purple basin, flooding with exquisite gold and rose light the slumberous shadows. Whata glorious wilderness to greet the eye at sunrise! I suffered a pang torealize what men missed--what I had to miss so many wonderful mornings. 

We had made our plan. The hounds had left a bear in the second canyoneast of Dude. Edd started down. Copple and Takahashi followed to hug thelower slopes. Nielsen and Haught and George held to the rim to ride eastin case the hounds chased a bear that way. And R. C. And I were to try toclimb out and down a thin rock-crested ridge which, so far as Haughtknew, no one had ever been on. 

Looked at from above this ridge was indeed a beautiful and ruggedbackbone of rock, sloping from the rim, extending far out and down--avery narrow knife-edge extended promontory, green with cedar and pine, yellow and gray with its crags and rocks. A craggy point comparable tosome of those in the Grand Canyon! We had to study a way to get acrossthe first deep fissures, and eventually descended far under the crestand climbed back. It was desperately hard work, for we had so littletime. R. C. Was to be at the middle of that ridge and I at the end in anhour. Like Trojans we worked. Some slippery pine-needle slopes we had torun across, for light quick steps were the only means of safe travel. And that was not safe! When we surmounted to the crest we found a jumbleof weathered rocks ready to slide down on either side. Slabs, pyramids, columns, shale, rocks of all shapes except round, lay toppling along theheaved ridge. It seemed the whole ridge was ready to thunder down intothe abyss. Half a mile down and out from the rim we felt lost, marooned. But there was something splendidly thrilling in our conquest of thatnarrow upflung edge of mountain. Twice R. C. Thought we would have toabandon further progress, but I found ways to go on. How lonely and wildout there! No foot save an Indian's had ever trod those gray rocks orbrown mats of pine needles. 

Before we reached the dip or saddle where R. C. Was to make his stand thehounds opened up far below. The morning was perfectly still, an unusualoccurrence there along the rim. What wild music! Then Edd's horn pealedout, ringing melody, a long blast keen and clear, telling us above thathe had started a bear. That made us hurry. We arrived at the head of anincline leading down to R. C. 's stand. As luck would have it the placewas ideal for a bear, but risky for a hunter. A bear could come fourways without being seen until he was close enough to kill a man. Wehurried on. At the saddle there was a broad bear trail with severalother trails leading into it. Suddenly R. C. Halted me with a warningfinger. "Listen!"

I heard a faint clear rifle shot. Then another, and a fainter yell. Westood there and counted eleven more shots. Then the bay of the houndsseemed to grow closer. We had little time to pick and choose stands. Ihad yet to reach the end of the ridge--a task requiring seven-leagueboots. But I took time to choose the best possible stand for R. C. Andthat was one where a bear approaching from only the east along under theridge could surprise him. In bad places like this we always tried tohave our minds made up what to do and where to get in case of beingcharged by a wounded grizzly. In this instance there was not a rock or atree near at hand. "R. C. You'll have to stand your ground and kill him, that's all, " I declared, grimly. "But it's quiet. You can hear a bearcoming. If you do hear one--wait--and make sure your first shot lets himdown. "

"Don't worry. I could hear a squirrel coming over this ground, " repliedR. C. 

Then I went on, not exactly at ease in mind, but stirred and thrilled tothe keen charged atmosphere. I had to go around under the base of arocky ledge, over rough ground. Presently I dropped into a bear trail, well trodden. I followed it to a corner of cliff where it went down. Then I kept on over loose rock and bare earth washed deep in ruts. I hadto leap these. Perhaps in ten minutes I had traveled a quarter of a mileor less. Then spang! R. C. 's rifle-shot halted me. So clear and sharp, so close, so startling! I was thrilled, delighted--he had gotten ashot. I wanted to yell my pleasure. My blood warmed and my nervestingled. Swiftly my thoughts ran--bad luck was nothing--a man had onlyto stick at a thing--what a fine, sharp, wonderful day for adventure!How the hounds bayed! Had R. C. Sighted a bear somewhere below? Suddenlythe still air split--spang! R. C. 's second shot gave me a shock. Mybreast contracted. I started back. "Suppose it was a grizzly--on thatbad side!" I muttered. Spang!. .. I began to run. A great sweeping waveof emotion charged over me, swelling all my veins to the bursting point. Spang! My heart came to my throat. Leaping the ruts, bounding like asheep from rock to rock, I covered my back tracks. All inside me seemedto flutter, yet I felt cold and hard--a sickening sense of reproach thatI had left my brother in a bad position. Spang! His fifth and lastshot followed swiftly after the fourth--too swift to be accurate. Sohurriedly a man would act in close quarters. R. C. Now had an emptyrifle!. .. Like a flash I crossed that slope leading to the rocks, andtore around the cliff at such speed that it was a wonder I did not pitchdown and break my neck. How long--how terribly long I seemed in reachingthe corner of cliff! Then I plunged to a halt with eyes dartingeverywhere. 

R. C. Was not in sight. The steep curved neck of slope seemed all rocks, all trees, all brush. Then I heard a wild hoarse bawl and a loudcrashing of brush. My gaze swerved to an open spot. A patch of manzanitaseemed to blur round a big bear, standing up, fighting the branches, threshing and growling. But where was R. C. ? Fearfully my gaze peerednear and all around this wounded bear. "Hey there!" I yelled with all mymight. 

R. C. 's answer was another spang. I heard the bullet hit the bear. Itmust have gone clear through him for I saw bits of fur and manzanitafly. The bear plunged out of the bushes--out of my sight. How he crashedthe brush--rolled the rocks! I listened. Down and down he crashed. Thenthe sound changed somewhat. He was rolling. At last that thumping soundceased, and after it the roll of rocks. 

"Are you--all right?" I shouted. 

Then, after a moment that made me breathless, I heard R. C. Laugh, alittle shakily. "Sure am. .. . Did you see him?"

"Yes. I think he's your bear. "

"I'm afraid he's got away. The hounds took another bear down the canyon. What'll we do?"

"Come on down, " I said. 

Fifty yards or more down the slope we met. I showed him a great splotchof blood on a flat stone. "We'll find him not far down, " I said. So weslid and crawled, and held to brush and rocks, following that bloodytrail until we came to a ledge. From there I espied the bear lodgedagainst a manzanita bush. He lay on his back, all four paws extended, and he was motionless. R. C. And I sat down right there on the ledge. 

"Looks pretty big--black and brown--mostly brown, " I said. "I'm glad, old man, you stuck it out. "

"Big!. .. " exclaimed R. C. With that same peculiar little laugh. "Hedoesn't look big now. But up there he looked like a hill. .. . What do youthink? He came up that very way you told me to look out for. And if Ihadn't had ears he'd got right on me. As it was, when I heard littlerolling stones, and then saw him, he was almost on a level with me. Mynerve was all right. I knew I had him. And I made sure of my first shot. I knocked him flat. But he got up--let out an awful snarl--and plungedmy way. I can't say I know he charged me. Only it was just the same asif he had!. .. I knocked him down again and this time he began to kickand jump down the slope. That was my best shot. Think I missed him thenext three. You see I had time to get shaky. If he had kept coming atme--good night!. .. I had trouble loading. But when I got ready again Iran down and saw him in that bush. Wasn't far from him then. When he letout that bawl he saw me. I don't know much about bears, but I know hewanted to get at me. And I'm sure of what he'd have done. .. . I didn'tmiss my last shot. "

We sat there a while longer, slowly calming down. Wonderful indeed hadbeen some of the moments of thrill, but there had been others notconducive to happiness. Why do men yearn for adventure in wild momentsand regret the risks and spilled blood afterward?

IX

The hounds enjoyed a well-earned rest the next day. R. C. And I, behindHaught's back, fed them all they could eat. The old hunter had a fixedidea that dogs should be kept lean and hungry so they would run bearsthe better. Perhaps he was right. Only I could not withstand Old Dan andOld Tom as they limped to me, begging and whining. Yet not even sorefeet and hunger could rob these grand old hounds of their dignity. Foran hour that morning I sat beside them in a sunny spot. 

In the afternoon Copple took me on a last deer hunt for that trip. Werode down the canyon a mile, and climbed out on the west slope. Haughthad described this country as a "wolf" to travel. He used that word todesignate anything particularly tough. We found the ridge covered with adense forest, in places a matted jungle of pine saplings. These thicketswere impenetrable. Heavy snows had bent the pines so that they grew atan angle. We found it necessary to skirt these thickets, and at that, sometimes had to cut our way through with our little axes. Hunting wasscarcely possible under such conditions. Still we did not see any deertracks. 

Eventually we crossed this ridge, or at least the jungle part of it, andgot lower down into hollows and swales full of aspens. Copple recognizedcountry he had hunted before. We made our way up a long shallow hollowthat ended in an open where lay the remains of an old log cabin, andcorrals. From under a bluff bubbled a clear beautiful spring. Copplelooked all around slowly, with strange expression, and at last, dismounting he knelt to drink of the spring. 

"Ah-h-good!" he exclaimed, after a deep draught. "Get down an' drink. Snow water an' it never goes dry. "

Indeed it was so cold it made my teeth ache, and so pure and sweet thatI drank until I could hold no more. Deer and cat and bear tracks showedalong the margin of clean sand. Lower down were fresh turkey tracks. Alonely spring in the woods visited by wild game! This place wassingularly picturesque and beautiful. The purest drinking water is foundin wild forest or on mountains. Men, cities, civilization contaminatewaters that are not isolated. 

Copple told me a man named Mitchell had lived in that lonely placethirty years ago. Copple, as a boy, had worked for him--had ridden wildbronchos and roped wild steers in that open, many and many a day. Something of unconscious pathos showed in Copple's eyes as he gazedaround, and in his voice. We all hear the echoing footsteps of the pastyears! In those days Copple said the ranch was overrun by wild game, andwild horses too. 

We rode on westward, to come out at length on the rim of a magnificentcanyon. It was the widest and deepest and wildest gorge I had comeacross in this country. So deep that only a faint roar of running waterreached our ears! The slopes were too steep for man, let alone a horse;and the huge cliffs and giant spruces gave it a singularly ruggedappearance. We saw deer on the opposite slope. Copple led along theedge, searching for traces of an old trail where Mitchell used to drivecattle across. We did not find a trail, but we found a place whereCopple said one used to be. I could see no signs of it. Here leading hishorse with one hand and wielding his little axe with the other Copplestarted down. For my part I found going down remarkably easy. The onlytrouble I had was to hold on, so I would not go down like a flash. Stockings, my horse, had in a few weeks become a splendid traveler inthe forest. He had learned to restrain his spirit and use hisintelligence. Wherever I led he would go and that without any fear. There is something fine in constant association with an intelligenthorse under such circumstances. In bad places Stockings braced hisforefeet, sat on his haunches, and slid, sometimes making me jump to getout of his way. We found the canyon bed a narrow notch, darkly rich andgreen, full of the melody of wild birds and murmuring brook, with hugerocks all stained gold and russet, and grass as high as our knees. Froststill lingered in the dark, cool, shady retreat; and where the sunstruck a narrow strip of the gorge there was warm, sweet, dry breath ofthe forest. But for the most part, down here all was damp, dank, coolshadow where sunshine never reached, and where the smells were of deadleaves and wet moss and ferns and black rich earth. 

Impossible we found it to ascend the other slope where we had seen thedeer, so we had to ride up the canyon, a matter greatly to my liking. Copple thought I was hunting with him, but really, except to follow him, I did not think of the meaning of his slow wary advance. Only a few moredays had I to roam the pine-scented forest. That ride up this deep gorgewas rich in sensation. Sun and sky and breeze and forest encompassed me. The wilderness was all about me; and I regretted when the canyon lostits splendid ruggedness, and became like the others I had traversed, andat last grew to be a shallow grassy ravine, with patches of gray aspensalong the tiny brook. 

As we climbed out once more, this time into an open, beautiful pineforest, with little patches of green thicket, I seemed to have beendrugged by the fragrance and the color and the beauty of the wild. Forwhen Copple called low and sharp: "Hist!" I stared uncomprehendingly athim. 

"Deer!" he whispered, pointing. "Get off an' smoke 'em up!"

Something shot through me--a different kind of thrill. Ahead in the openI saw gray, graceful, wild forms trotting away. Like a flash I slid offmy horse and jerked out my rifle. I ran forward a few steps. The deerhad halted--were gazing at us with heads up and ears high. What a wildbeautiful picture! As I raised my rifle they seemed to move and vanishin the green. The hunter in me, roused at last, anathematized mymiserable luck. I ran ahead another few steps, to be halted by Copple. "Buck!" he called, sharply. "Hurry!" Then, farther on in the open, outin the sunlight, I saw a noble stag, moving, trotting toward us. Keen, hard, fierce in my intensity, I aligned the sights upon his breast andfired. Straight forward and high he bounded, to fall with a heavy thud. 

Copple's horse, startled by my shot, began to snort and plunge. "Goodshot, " yelled Copple. "He's our meat. "

What possessed me I knew not, but I ran ahead of Copple. My eyessearched avidly the bush-dotted ground for my quarry. The rifle felt hotin my tight grip. All inside me was a tumult--eager, keen, wildexcitement. The great pines, the green aisles leading away into thewoods, the shadows under the thickets, the pine-pitch tang of the air, the loneliness of that lonely forest--all these seemed familiar, sweet, beautiful, things mine alone, things seen and smelled and felt before, things . .. Then suddenly I ran right upon my deer, lying motionless, dead I thought. He appeared fairly large, with three-point antlers. Iheard Copple's horse thudding the soft earth behind me, and I yelled: "Igot him, Ben. " That was a moment of exultation. 

It ended suddenly. Something halted me. My buck, now scarcely fifteenfeet from me, began to shake and struggle. He raised his head, utteringa choking gasp. I heard the flutter of blood in his throat. He raisedhimself on his front feet and lifted his head high, higher, until hisnose pointed skyward and his antlers lay back upon his shoulders. Then astrong convulsion shook him. I heard the shuddering wrestle of his wholebody. I heard the gurgle and flow of blood. Saw the smoke of fresh bloodand smelled it! I saw a small red spot in his gray breast where mybullet had struck. I saw a great bloody gaping hole on his rump wherethe. 30 Gov't expanding bullet had come out. From end to end that bullethad torn! Yet he was not dead. Straining to rise again!

I saw, felt all this in one flashing instant. And as swiftly my spiritchanged. What I might have done I never knew, but most likely I wouldhave shot him through the brain. Only a sudden action of the stagparalyzed all my force. He lowered his head. He saw me. And dying, withlungs and heart and bowels shot to shreds, he edged his stiff front feettoward me, he dragged his afterquarters, he slid, he flopped, heskittered convulsively at me. No fear in the black, distended, wildeyes!

Only hate, only terrible, wild, unquenchable spirit to live long enoughto kill me! I saw it, He meant to kill me. How magnificent, how horriblethis wild courage! My eyes seemed riveted upon him, as he came closer, closer. He gasped. Blood sputtered from his throat. But more terriblethan agony, than imminent death was the spirit of this wild beast toslay its enemy. Inch by inch he skidded closer to me, with a convulsivequivering awful to see. No veil of the past, no scale of civilizationbetween beast and man then! Enemies as old as the earth! I had shot himto eat, and he would kill me before he died. For me the moment wasmonstrous. No hunter was I then, but a man stricken by the spirit andmystery of life, by the agony and terror of death, by the awful strangesense that this stag would kill me. 

But Copple galloped up, and drawing his revolver, he shot the deerthrough the head. It fell in a heap. 

"Don't ever go close to a crippled deer, " admonished my comrade, as heleaped off his horse. "I saw a fellow once that was near killed by abuck he'd taken for dead. .. . Strange the way this buck half stood up. Reckon he meant bad, but he was all in. You hit him plumb center. "

"Yes, Ben, it was--strange, " I replied, soberly. I caught Copple's keendark glance studying me. "When you open him up--see what my bullet did, will you?"

"All right. Help me hang him to a snag here, " returned Copple, as heuntied his lasso. 

When we got the deer strung up I went off into the woods, and sat on alog, and contended with a queer sort of sickness until it passed away. But it left a state of mind that I knew would require me to probe intomyself, and try to understand once and for all time this bloodthirsytendency of man to kill. It would force me to try to analyze thepsychology of hunting. Upon my return to Copple I found he had the buckready to load upon his horse. His hands were bright red. He was wipinghis hunting-knife on a bunch of green pine needles. 

"That 150-grain soft-nose bullet is some executioner, " he declared, forcefully. "Your bullet mushroomed just after it went into his breast. It tore his lung to pieces, cut open his heart, made a mess of kidneysan' paunch, an' broke his spine. .. . An' look at this hole where it cameout!"

I helped Copple heave the load on his saddle and tie it securely, and Igot my hands red at the job, but I did not really look at the buckagain. And upon our way back to camp I rode in the lead all the way. Wereached camp before sunset, where I had to endure the felicitations ofR. C. And my comrades, all of whom were delighted that at last I hadgotten a buck. Takahashi smiled all over his broad brown face. "Mygoodnish! I awful glad! Nice fat deer!"

That night I lay awake a long time, and though aware of the moan of thewind in the pines and the tinkle of the brook, and the melancholy hootof an owl, and later the still, sad, black silence of the midnighthours, I really had no pleasure in them. My mind was active. 

Boys are inherently cruel. The games they play, at least those theyinvent, instinctively partake of some element of brute nature. Theychase, they capture, they imprison, they torture, and they kill. Nosecret rendezvous of a boy's pirate gang ever failed to be soaked withimaginary blood! And what group of boys have not played at beingpirates? The Indian games are worse--scalping, with red-hot cindersthrown upon the bleeding head, and the terrible running of the gauntlet, and burning at the stake. 

What youngster has not made wooden knives to spill the blood of hispretended enemies? Little girls play with dolls, and with toy houses, and all the implements of making a home; but sweet and dear as thelittle angels are they love a boy's game, and if they can through somelucky accident participate in one it is to scream and shudder and fight, indeed like the females of the species. No break here between theselittle mothers of doll-babies and the bloody mothers of the FrenchRevolution, or of dusky, naked, barbarian children of a primitive day!

Boys love the chase. And that chase depends upon environment. For wantof wild game they will harry a poor miserable tom-cat with sticks andstones. I belonged once to a gang of young ruffians who chased theneighbor's chickens, killed them with clubs, and cooked them in tincans, over a hidden fire. Boys love nothing so much as to chase asquirrel or a frightened little chipmunk back and forth along a railfence. They brandish their sticks, run and yell, dart to and fro, likeyoung Indians. They rob bird's nests, steal the eggs, pierce them andblow them. They capture the young birds, and are not above killing theparents that fly frantically to the rescue. I knew of boys who groundcaptured birds to death on a grindstone. Who has not seen a boy flingstones at a helpless hop-toad?

As boys grow older to the age of reading they select, or at least lovebest, those stories of bloodshed and violence. Stevenson wrote that boysread for some element of the brute instinct in them. His two wonderfulbooks Treasure Island and Kidnapped are full of fight and thekilling of men. Robinson Crusoe is the only great boy's book I everread that did not owe its charm to fighting. But still did not oldCrusoe fight to live on his lonely island? And this wonderful tale isfull of hunting, and has at the end the battle with cannibals. 

When lads grow up they become hunters, almost without exception, atleast in spirit if not in deed. Early days and environment decidewhether or not a man becomes a hunter. In all my life I have met onlytwo grown men who did not care to go prowling and hunting in the woodswith a gun. An exception proves a great deal, but all the same most men, whether they have a chance or not, love to hunt. Hunters, therefore, there are of many degrees. Hunters of the lowly cotton-tail and thewoodland squirrel; hunters of quail, woodcock, and grouse; hunters ofwild ducks and geese; hunters of foxes--the red-coated English and thehomespun clad American; hunters--which is a kinder name for trappers--ofbeaver, marten, otter, mink, all the furred animals; hunters of deer, cat, wolf, bear, antelope, elk, moose, caribou; hunters of the barrenlands where the ice is king and where there are polar bears, whitefoxes, musk-ox, walrus. Hunters of different animals of differentcountries. African hunters for lion, rhinoceros, elephant, buffalo, eland, hartebeest, giraffe, and a hundred species made known to all theworld by such classical sportsmen as Selous, Roosevelt, Stewart EdwardWhite. 

But they are all hunters and their game is the deadly chase in the openor the wild. There are hunters who hate action, who hate to walk andclimb and toil and wear themselves out to get a shot. Such men arehunters still, but still not men! There are hunters who have game drivenup to them. I heard a story told by an officer whom I believe. In theearly days of the war he found himself somewhere on the border betweenAustria and Germany. He was invited to a hunt by personages of highdegree. They motored to a sequestered palace in the forest, and next daymotored to a shooting-lodge. At daylight he was called, and taken to theedge of a forest and stationed in an open glade. His stand was anupholstered divan placed high in the forks of a tree. His guide told himthat pretty soon a doe would come out of the forest. But he was not toshoot it. In fifteen minutes a lame buck would come out. But he was notto shoot that one either. In ten more minutes another buck would comeout, and this third deer he was to kill. My informant told me this wasall very seriously meant. The gun given him was large enough in calibreto kill an elephant. He walked up the steps to the comfortable divan andsettled himself to await events. The doe trotted out exactly on scheduletime. So did the lame buck. They came from the woods and were notfrightened. The third deer, a large buck, was a few moments late--threeminutes to be exact. According to instructions the American killed thisbuck--a matter that took some nerve he said, for the buck walked outlike a cow. That night a big supper was given in the guest's honor. Hehad to eat certain parts of the buck he had killed, and drink flagons ofwine. This kind of hunting must be peculiarly German or Austrian, andillustrates the peculiar hunting ways of men. 

A celebrated bear hunter and guide of the northwest told me that fortwenty years he had been taking eastern ministers--preachers of thegospel--on hunting trips into the wild. He assured me that of all thebloody murderers--waders in gore, as he expressed it--these teachers ofthe gospel were the worst. The moment they got out into the wild theywanted to kill, kill, kill. He averred their natures seemed utterly tochange. 

In reading the books of hunters and in listening to their talks atCamp-fire Club dinners I have always been struck with the expression ofwhat these hunters felt, what they thought they got out of hunting. Thechange from city to the open wilderness; the difference between noise, tumult, dirt, foul air, and the silence, the quiet, the cleanness andpurity; the sweet breath of God's country as so many called it; thebeauty of forest and mountain; the wildness of ridge and valley; thewonder of wild animals in their native haunts; and the zest, the joy, the excitement, the magnificent thrill of the stalk and the chase. Noone of them ever dwelt upon the kill! It was mentioned, as a result, anend, a consummation. How strange that hunters believed these were theattractions of the chase! They felt them, to be sure, in some degree, orthey would not remember them. But they never realized that thesesensations were only incidental to hunting. 

Men take long rides, hundreds and thousands of miles, to hunt. Theyendure hardships, live in camps with absolute joy. They stalk throughthe forest, climb the craggy peaks, labor as giants in the building ofthe pyramids, all with a tight clutch on a deadly rifle. They are keen, intent, strained, quiveringly eager all with a tight clutch on a deadlyrifle. If hunters think while on a stalk--which matter I doubtconsiderably--they think about the lay of the land, or the aspect of it, of the habits and possibilities of their quarry, of their labor andchances, and particularly of the vague unrealized sense of comfort, pleasure, satisfaction in the moment. Tight muscles, alert eyes, stealthy steps, stalk and run and crawl and climb, breathlessness, a hotclose-pressed chest, thrill on thrill, and sheer bursting riot of nerveand vein--these are the ordinary sensations and actions of a hunter. Noascent too lofty--no descent too perilous for him then, if he is a manas well as a hunter!

Take the Brazilian hunter of the jungle. He is solitary. He issufficient to himself. He is a survival of the fittest. The number ofhis tribe are few. Nature sees to that. But he must eat, and thereforehe hunts. He spears fish and he kills birds and beasts with a blow-gun. He hunts to live. But the manner of his action, though more skilful, isthe same as any hunter's. Likewise his sensations, perhaps more vividbecause hunting for him is a matter of life or death. Take the Gaucho ofPatagonia--the silent lonely Indian hunter of the Pampas. He hunts witha bola, a thin thong or string at each end of which is a heavyleather-covered ball of stone or iron. This the Gaucho hurls through theair at the neck or legs of his quarry. The balls fly round--the thongbinds tight--it is a deadly weapon. The user of it rides and stalks andsees and throws and feels the same as any other hunter. Time and place, weapon and game have little to do with any differences in hunters. 

Up to this 1919 hunting trip in the wilds I had always marveled at thefact that naturalists and biologists hate sportsmen. Not hunters likethe Yellow Knife Indians, or the snake-eating Bushmen of Australia, orthe Terra-del-Fuegians, or even the native country rabbit-hunters--butthe so-called sportsmen. Naturalists and biologists have simply learnedthe truth why men hunt, and that when it is done in the name of sport, or for sensation, it is a degenerate business. Stevenson wrote beautifulwords about "the hunter home from the hill, " but so far as I can findout he never killed anything himself. He was concerned with the romanceof the thought, with alliteration, and the singular charm of thetruth--sunset and the end of the day, the hunter's plod down the hill tothe cottage, to the home where wife and children awaited him. Indeed itis a beautiful truth, and not altogether in the past, for there arestill farmers and pioneers. 

Hunting is a savage primordial instinct inherited from our ancestors. It goes back through all the ages of man, and farther still--to the agewhen man was not man, but hairy ape, or some other beast from which weare descended. To kill is in the very marrow of our bones. If man afterhe developed into human state had taken to vegetable diet--which henever did take--he yet would have inherited the flesh-eating instinctsof his animal forebears. And no instinct is ever wholly eradicated. Butman was a meat eater. By brute strength, by sagacity, by endurance hekilled in order to get the means of subsistence. If he did not kill hestarved. And it is a matter of record, even down to modern times, thatman has existed by cannibalism. 

The cave-man stalked from his hole under a cliff, boldly forth with hishuge club or stone mace. Perhaps he stole his neighbor's woman, but ifso he had more reason to hunt than before--he had to feed her as well ashimself. This cave-man, savagely descended, savagely surrounded, musthave had to hunt all the daylight hours and surely had to fight to killhis food, or to keep it after he killed it. Long, long ages was thebeing called cave-man in developing; more long ages he lived on theearth, in that dim dark mystic past; and just as long were hisdescendants growing into another and higher type of barbarian. But theyand their children and grandchildren, and all their successive, innumerable, and varying descendants had to hunt meat and eat meat tolive. 

The brain of barbarian man was small, as shown by the size and shape ofhis skull, but there is no reason to believe its construction and usewere any different from the use of other organs--the eye to seewith--the ear to hear with--the palate to taste with. Whatever the brainof primitive man was it held at birth unlimited and innumerableinstincts like those of its progenitors; and round and smooth inbabyhood, as it was, it surely gathered its sensations, one afteranother in separate and habitual channels, until when manhood arrived ithad its convolutions, its folds and wrinkles. And if instinct andtendency were born in the brain how truly must they be a part of bone, tissue, blood. 

We cannot escape our inheritance. Civilization is merely a veneer, athin-skinned polish over the savage and crude nature. Fear, anger, lust, the three great primal instincts are restrained, but they livepowerfully in the breast of man. Self preservation is the first law ofhuman life, and is included in fear. Fear of death is the firstinstinct. Then if for thousands, perhaps millions of years, man had tohunt because of his fear of death, had to kill meat to survive--considerthe ineradicable and permanent nature of the instinct. 

The secret now of the instinctive joy and thrill and wildness of thechase lies clear. 

Stealing through the forest or along the mountain slope, eyes roving, ears sensitive to all vibrations of the air, nose as keen as that of ahound, hands tight on a deadly rifle, we unconsciously go back. We goback to the primitive, to the savage state of man. Therein lies the joy. How sweet, vague, unreal those sensations of strange familiarity withwild places we know we never saw before! But a million years before thathour a hairy ancestor of ours felt the same way in the same kind of aplace, and in us that instinct survives. That is the secret of thewonderful strange charm of wild places, of the barren rocks of thedesert wilderness, of the great-walled lonely canyons. Something now inour blood, in our bones once danced in men who lived then in similarplaces. And lived by hunting!

The child is father to the man. In the light of this instinct how easyto understand his boyish cruelty. He is true to nature. Unlimited andinfinite in his imagination when he hunts--whether with his toys orwith real weapons. If he flings a stone and kills a toad he isinstinctively killing meat for his home in the cave. How littledifference between the lad and the man! For a man the most poignantlyexciting, the most thrillingly wild is the chase when he is weaponless, when he runs and kills his quarry with a club. Here we have the essenceof the matter. The hunter is proudest of his achievement in which he hasnot had the help of deadly weapons. Unconsciously he will brag and glowover that conquest wherein lay greatest peril to him--when he hadnothing but his naked hands. What a hot gush of blood bursts over him!He goes back to his barbarian state when a man only felt. The savagelived in his sensations. He saw, heard, smelled, tasted, touched, butseldom thought. The earthy, the elemental of eye and ear and skinsurrounded him. When the man goes into the wilderness to change into ahunter that surviving kinship with the savage revives in his being, andall unconsciously dominates him with driving passion. Passion it isbecause for long he has been restrained in the public haunts of men. Hisreal nature has been hidden. The hunting of game inhibits his thoughts. He feels only. He forgets himself. He sees the track, he hears thestealthy step, he smells the wild scent; and his blood dances with thedance of the ages. Then he is a killer. Then the ages roll back. Then heis brother to the savage. Then all unconsciously he lives the chase, thefight, the death-dealing moment as they were lived by all his ancestorsdown through the misty past. 

What then should be the attitude of a thoughtful man toward thisliberation of an instinct--that is to say, toward the game or sport orhabit of hunting to kill? Not easily could I decide this for myself. After all life is a battle. Eternally we are compelled to fight. If wedo not fight, if we do not keep our bodies strong, supple, healthy, soonwe succumb to some germ or other that gets a hold in our blood or lungsand fights for its life, its species, until it kills us. Fight thereforeis absolutely necessary to long life, and Alas! eventually that fightmust be lost. The savages, the Babylonians, the Persians, the Greeks allworshipped physical prowess in man. Manhood, strength--the symbols offight! To be physically strong and well a man must work hard, withfrequent intervals of change of exercise, and he must eat meat. I am nota great meat eater, but I doubt if I could do much physical labor or anybrain work on a vegetable diet. Therefore I hold it fair and manly to goonce a year to the wilderness to hunt. Let that hunt be clean hard toil, as hard as I can stand! Perhaps nature created the lower animals for theuse of man. If I had been the creator I think I would have made itpossible for the so-called higher animal man to live on air. 

Somewhere I read a strange remarkable story about monkeys and priests inthe jungle of India. An old order of priests had from time out of mindsent two of their comrades into the jungle to live with the monkeys, totame them, feed them, study them, love them. And these priests told anincredible story, yet one that haunted with its possibilities of truth. After a long term of years in which one certain priest had lived withthe monkeys and they had learned truly he meant them no harm and onlyloved them, at rare moments an old monkey would come to him and weep andweep in the most terrible and tragic manner. This monkey wanted to tellsomething, but could not speak. But the priest knew that the monkey wastrying to tell him how once the monkey people had been human like him. Only they had retrograded in the strange scale of evolution. And theterrible weeping was for loss--loss of physical stature, of speech, perhaps of soul. 

What a profound and stunning idea! Does evolution work backward? Couldnature in its relentless inscrutable design for the unattainableperfection have developed man only to start him backward toward the dimages whence he sprang? Who knows! But every man can love wild animals. Every man can study and try to understand the intelligence of his horse, the loyalty of his dog. And every hunter can hunt less with hisinstinct, and more with an understanding of his needs, and aconsideration for the beasts only the creator knows. 

X

The last day of everything always comes. Time, like the tide, waits forno man. Anticipation is beautiful, but it is best and happiest to enjoythe present. Live while we may!

On this last day of my hunt we were up almost before it was light enoughto see. The morning star shone radiant in the dark gray sky. All theother stars seemed dimmed by its glory. Silent as a grave was theforest. I started a fire, chopped wood so vigorously that I awakenedNielsen who came forth like a burly cave-man; and I washed hands andface in the icy cold brook. By the time breakfast was over the gold ofthe rising sun was tipping the highest pines on the ridges. 

We started on foot, leaving the horses hobbled near camp. All the houndsappeared fit. Even Old Dan trotted along friskily. Pyle, a neighbor ofHaught's, had come to take a hunt with us, bringing two dogs with him. For this last day I had formulated a plan. Edd and one of the boys wereto take the hounds down on the east side of the great ridge that madethe eastern wall of Dude Canyon. R. C. Was to climb out on this ridge, and take his position at the most advantageous point. We had alreadychased half a dozen bears over this saddle, one of which was the bigfrosty-coated grizzly that Edd and Nielsen had shot at. The rest of ushurried to the head of Dude Canyon. Copple and I were to go down to thefirst promontories under the rim. The others were to await developmentsand go where Haught thought best to send them. 

Copple and I started down over and around the crags, going carefullyuntil we reached the open slope under the rim-rock. It seemed thismorning that I was fresh, eager, agile like a goat on my feet. In myconsciousness of this I boasted to Copple that I would dislodge fewerstones and so make less noise than he. The canyon sloped at an angle ofabout forty-five degrees, and we slid, stepped, jumped and ran downwithout starting an avalanche. 

When we descended to the first bare cape of projecting rock the hour wasthe earliest in which I had been down under the rim. All the canyon andthe great green gulf below were unusually fresh and beautiful. I heardthe lonely call of strange birds and the low murmur of running water. Aneagle soared in the sunlight. High above us to the east rose themagnificent slope of Dude Canyon. I gazed up to the black and green andsilver ascent, up to the gold-tipped craggy crest where R. C. Had hisstand. I knew he could see me, but I could not see him. Afterward hetold me that my red cap shone clearly out of green and gray, so he hadno difficulty in keeping track of my whereabouts. The thickets of aspensand oaks seemed now to stand on end. How dark in the shade and steelyand cold they looked! That giant ridge still obstructed the sun, andall on this side of it, under its frowning crest and slope was dark andfresh and cool in shadow. The ravines were choked black with sprucetrees. Here along this gray shady slant of wall, in niches and cracks, and under ledges, and on benches, were the beds of the bears. Even as Igazed momentarily I expected to see a bear. It looked two hundred yardsacross the canyon from where we stood, but Copple declared it was athousand. On our other side capes and benches and groves were bright insunshine, clear across the rough breaks to the west wall of Dude Canyon. I saw a flock of wild pigeons below. Way out and beyond rolled the floorof the basin, green and vast, like a ridged sea of pines, to the boldblack Mazatzals so hauntingly beckoning from the distance. Copple spokenow and then, but I wanted to be silent. How wild and wonderful thisplace in the early morning!

But I had not long to meditate and revel in beauty and wildness. Fardown across the mouth of the canyon, at the extreme southern end of thatvast oak thicket, the hounds gave tongue. Old Dan first! In the stillcool air how his great wolf-bay rang out the wildness of the time andplace! Already Edd and Pyle had rounded the end of the east ridge andwere coming up along the slope of Dude Canyon. 

"Hounds workin' round, " declared Copple. "Now I'll tell you what. Lastnight a bear was feedin' along that end of the thicket. The hounds aremillin' round tryin' to straighten out his trail. .. . It's a dead cinchthey'll jump a bear an' we'll see him. "

"Look everywhere!" I cautioned Copple, and my eyes roved and strainedover all that vast slope. Suddenly I espied the flash of somethingblack, far down the thicket, and tried to show it to my comrade. 

"Let's go around an' down to that lower point of rock. It's a betterstand than this. Closer to the thicket an' commands those. .. . By Golly, I see what you see! That's a bear, slippin' down. Stay with me now!"

Staying with Copple was a matter of utter disregard of clothes, limbs, life. He plunged off that bare ledge, slid flat on his back, and wormedfeet first under manzanita, and gaining open slope got up to run andjump into another thicket. By staying with him I saw that I would have away opened through the brush, and something to fall upon if I fell. Herimmed the edge of a deep gorge that made me dizzy. He leaped cracks. Helet himself down over a ledge by holding to bushes. He found steps todescend little bluffs, and he flew across the open slides of weatheredrock. I was afraid this short cut to the lower projecting cape of rockwould end suddenly on some impassable break or cliff, but though thetravel grew rough we still kept on. I wore only boots, trousers, andshirt, and cap, with cartridge belt strapped tight around me. It was awonder I was not stripped. Some of my rags went to decorate the wake weleft down that succession of ledges. But we made it, with me at least, bruised and ragged, dusty and choked, and absolutely breathless. My bodyburned as with fire. Hot sweat ran in streams down my chest. At last wereached the bare flat projecting cape of rock, and indeed it afforded anexceedingly favorable outlook. I had to sink down on the rock; I couldnot talk until I got my breath; but I used my eyes to every advantage. Neither Copple nor I could locate the black moving object we had seenfrom above. We were much closer to the hounds, though they still werebaying a tangled cross trail. Fortunate it was for me that I was giventhese few moments to rest from my tremendous exertions. 

My eyes searched the leaf-covered slope so brown and sear, and theshaggy thickets, and tried to pierce the black tangle of sprucepatches. All at once, magically it seemed, my gaze held to a darkshadow, a bit of dense shade, under a large spruce tree. Somethingmoved. Then a big bear rose right out of his bed of leaves, majesticallyas if disturbed, and turned his head back toward the direction of thebaying hounds. Next he walked out. He stopped. I was quivering witheagerness to tell Copple, but I waited. Then the bear walked behind atree and peeped out, only his head showing. After a moment again hewalked out. 

"Ben, aren't you ever going to see him?" I cried at last. 

"What?" ejaculated Copple, in surprise. 

"Bear!" and I pointed. "This side of dead spruce. "

"No!. .. Reckon you see a stump. .. . By Golly! I see him. He's a dandy. Reddish color. .. . Doc, he's one of them mean old cinnamons. "

"Watch! What will he do?--Ben, he hears the hounds. "

How singularly thrilling to see him, how slowly he walked, how devoid offear, how stately!

"Sure he hears them. See him look back. The son-of-a-gun! I'll bet he'sgiven us the bear-laugh more than once. "

"Ben, how far away is he?" I asked. 

"Oh, that's eight hundred yards, " declared Copple. "A long shot. Let'swait. He may work down closer. But most likely he'll run up-hill. "

"If he climbs he'll go right to R. C. 's stand, " I said, gazing upward. 

"Sure will. There's no other saddle. "

Then I decided that I would not shoot at him unless he started down. Myexcitement was difficult to control. I found it impossible to attend tomy sensations, to think about what I was feeling. But the moment wasfull of suspense. The bear went into a small clump of spruces andstayed there a little while. Tantalizing moments! The hounds were hotupon his trail, still working to and fro in the oak thicket. I judgedscarcely a mile separated them from the bear. Again he disappearedbehind a little bush. Remembering that five pairs of sharp eyes couldsee me from the points above I stood up and waved my red cap. I waved itwildly as a man waves a red flag in moments of danger. Afterward R. C. Said he saw me plainly and understood my action. Again the bear hadshowed, this time on an open slide, where he had halted. He was lookingacross the canyon while I waved my cap. 

"Ben, could he see us so far?" I asked. 

"By Golly, I'll bet he does see us. You get to smokin' him up. An' ifyou hit him don't be nervous if he starts for us. Cinnamons are badcustomers. Lay out five extra shells an' make up your mind to kill him. "

I dropped upon one knee. The bear started down, coming towards us overan open slide. "Aim a little coarse an' follow him, " said Copple. I didso, and tightening all my muscles into a ball, holding my breath, Ifired. The bear gave a savage kick backwards. He jerked back to bite athis haunch. A growl, low, angry, vicious followed the echoes of myrifle. Then it seemed he pointed his head toward us and began to rundown the slope, looking our way all the time. 

"By Golly!" yelled Copple. "You stung him one an' he's comin'!. .. Nowyou've got to shoot some. He can roll down-hill an' run up-hill like ajack rabbit. Take your time--wait for open shots--an' make sure!"

Copple's advice brought home to me what could happen even with theadvantage on my side. Also it brought the cold tight prickle to my skin, the shudder that was not a thrill, the pressure of blood running tooswiftly, I did not feel myself shake, but the rifle was unsteady. Irested an elbow on my knee, yet still I had difficulty in keeping thesight on him. I could get it on him, but could not keep it there. Againhe came out into the open, at the head of a yellow slide, that reachedto a thicket below. I must not hurry, yet I had to hurry. After all hehad not so far to come and most of the distance was under cover. Throughmy mind flashed Haught's story of a cinnamon that kept coming with tenbullets in him. 

"Doc, he's paddin' along!" warned Copple. "Smoke some of them shells!"

Straining every nerve I aimed as before, only a little in advance, heldtight and pulled at the same instant. The bear doubled up in a ball andbegan to roll down the slide. He scattered the leaves. Then into thethicket he crashed, knocking the oaks, and cracking the brush. 

"Some shot!" yelled Copple. "He's your bear!"

But my bear continued to crash through the brush. I shot again and yetagain, missing both times. Apparently he was coming, faster now--andthen he showed dark almost at the foot of our slope. Trees were thickthere. I could not see there, and I could not look for bear and reloadat the same moment. My fingers were not very nimble. 

"Don't shoot, " shouted Copple. "He's your bear. I never make anymistakes when I see game hit. "

"But I see him coming!"

"Where?. .. By Golly! that's another bear. He's black. Yours is red. .. . Look sharp. Next time he shows smoke him!"

I saw a flash of black across an open space--I heard a scattering ofgravel. But I had no chance to shoot. Then both of us heard a bearrunning in thick leaves. 

"He's gone down the canyon, " said Copple. "Now look for your bear. "

"Listen Ben. The hounds are coming fast. There's Rock. --There's Sue. "

"I see them. Old Dan--what do you think of that old dog?. .. There!--yourred bear's still comin' . .. He's bad hurt. "

Though Copple tried hard to show me where, and I strained my eyes, Icould not see the bear. I could not locate the threshing of brush. Iknew it seemed close enough for me to be glad I was not down in thatthicket. How the hounds made the welkin ring! Rock was in the lead. Suewas next. And Old Dan must have found the speed of his best days. Strange he did not bay all down that slope! When Rock and Sue headed thebear then I saw him. He sat up on his haunches ready to fight, but theydid not attack him. Instead they began to yelp wildly. I dared not shootagain for fear of hitting one of them. Old Dan just beat the rest of thepack to the bear. Up pealed a yelping chorus. I had never heard Old Danbay a bear at close range. With deep, hoarse, quick, wild roars hedominated that medley. A box canyon took up the bays, cracking them backin echo from wall to wall. 

From the saddle of the great ridge above pealed down R. C. 's: "Waahoo!"

I saw him silhouetted dark against the sky line. He waved and Ianswered. Then he disappeared. 

Nielsen bellowed from the craggy cape above and behind us. From down thecanyon Edd sent up his piercing: "Ki Yi!" Then Takahashi appearedopposite to us, like a goat on a promontory. How his: "Banzai!" rangabove the baying of the hounds!

"We'd better hurry down an' across, " said Copple. "Reckon the houndswill jump that bear or some one else will get there first. We got toskedaddle!"

As before we fell into a manzanita thicket and had to crawl. Then wecame out upon the rim of a box canyon where the echoes made such a din. It was too steep to descend. We had to head it, and Copple took chances. Loose boulders tripped me and stout bushes saved me. We knocked streamsof rock and gravel down into this gorge, sending up a roar as of fallingwater. But we got around. A steep slope lay below, all pine needles andleaves. From this point I saw Edd on the opposite slope. 

"I stopped one bear, " I yelled. "Hurry. Look out for the dogs!"

Then, imitating Copple, I sat down and slid as on a toboggan for somethirty thrilling yards. Some of my anatomy and more of my rags I leftbehind me. But it was too exciting then to think of hurts. I managed toprotect at least my rifle. Copple was charging into the thicket below. Ifollowed him into the dark gorge, where huge boulders lay, and a swiftbrook ran, and leaves two feet deep carpeted the shady canyon bed. Itwas gloomy down into the lower part. I saw where bear had turned overthe leaves making a dark track. 

"The hounds have quit, " called Copple suddenly. "I told you he was yourbear. "

We yelled. Somebody above us answered. Then we climbed up the oppositeslope, through a dense thicket, crossing a fresh bear track, a runningtrack, and soon came into an open rocky slide where my bear laysurrounded by the hounds, with Old Dan on guard. The bear was red incolor, with silky fur, a long keen head, and fine limbs, and of goodlysize. 

"Cinnamon, " declared Copple, and turning him over he pointed to a whitespot on his breast. "Fine bear. About four hundred pounds. Maybe not soheavy. But he'll take some packin' up to the rim!"

Then I became aware of the other men. Takahashi had arrived on thescene first, finding the bear dead. Edd came next, and after him Pyle. 

I sat down for a much needed rest. Copple interested himself inexamining the bear, finding that my first shot had hit him in the flank, and my second had gone through the middle of his body. Next Coppleamused himself by taking pictures of bear and hounds. Old Dan came to meand lay beside me, and looked as if to say: "Well, we got him!"

Yells from both sides of the canyon were answered by Edd. R. C. Wasrolling the rocks on his side at a great rate. But Nielsen on the otherside beat him to us. The Norwegian crashed the brush, sent theavalanches roaring, and eventually reached us, all dirty, ragged, bloody, with fire in his eye. He had come all the way from the rim inshort order. What a performance that must have been! He said he thoughthe might be needed. R. C. Guided by Edd's yells, came cracking the brushdown to us. Pale he was and wet with sweat, and there were black brushmarks across his face. His eyes were keen and sharp. He had started downfor the same reason as Nielsen's. But he had to descend a slope so steepthat he had to hold on to keep from sliding down. And he had jumped abig bear out of a bed of leaves. The bed was still warm. R. C. Said hehad smelled bear, and that his toboggan slide down that slope, withbears all around for all he knew, had started the cold sweat on him. 

Presently George Haught joined us, having come down the bed of thecanyon. 

"We knew you'd got a bear, " said George. "Father heard the first twobullets hit meat. An' I heard him rollin' down the slope. "

"Well!" exclaimed R. C. "That's what made those first two shots sound sostrange to me. Different from the last two. Sounded like soft dead pats!And it was lead hitting flesh. I heard it half a mile away!"

This matter of the sound of bullets hitting flesh and being heard at agreat distance seemed to me the most remarkable feature of our hunt. Later I asked Haught. He said he heard my first two bullets strike andbelieved from the peculiar sound that I had my bear. And his stand wasfully a mile away. But the morning was unusually still and sound carriedfar. 

The men hung my bear from the forks of a maple. Then they decided togive us time to climb up to our stands before putting the hounds on theother fresh trail. 

Nielsen, R. C. , and I started to climb back up to the points. Only plentyof time made it possible to scale those rugged bluffs. Nielsen distancedus, and eventually we became separated. The sun grew warm. The beeshummed. After a while we heard the baying of the hounds. They wereworking westward under the bases of the bluffs. We rimmed the heads ofseveral gorges, climbed and crossed the west ridge of Dude Canyon, andlost the hounds somewhere as we traveled. 

R. C. Did not seem to mind this misfortune any more than I. We werecontent. Resting a while we chose the most accessible ridge and startedthe long climb to the rim. Westward under us opened a great noble canyonfull of forests, thicketed slopes, cliffs and caves and crags. Next timewe rested we again heard the hounds, far away at first, but graduallydrawing closer. In half an hour they appeared right under us again. Their baying, however, grew desultory, and lacked the stirring note. Finally we heard Edd calling and whistling to them. After that for awhile all was still. Then pealed up the clear tuneful melody of Edd'shorn, calling off the chase for that day and season. 

"All over, " said R. C. "Are you glad?"

"For Old Dan's sake and Tom's and the bears--yes, " I replied. 

"Me, too! But I'd never get enough of this country. "

We proceeded on our ascent over and up the broken masses of rock, climbing slowly and easily, making frequent and long rests. We liked tolinger in the sun on the warm piny mossy benches. Every shady cedar orjuniper wooed us to tarry a moment. Old bear tracks and fresh deertracks held the same interest, though our hunt was over. Above us thegray broken mass of rim towered and loomed, more formidable as we nearedit. Sometimes we talked a little, but mostly we were silent. 

[Illustration: MEAT IN CAMP]

[Illustration: (2) MEAT IN CAMP]

Like an Indian, at every pause, I gazed out into the void. How sweepingand grand the long sloping lines of ridges from the rim down! Away inthe east ragged spurs of peaks showed hazily, like uncertain mountainson the desert. South ranged the upheaved and wild Mazatzals. Everywherebeneath me, for leagues and leagues extended the timbered hills ofgreen, the gray outcroppings of rocks, the red bluffs, the goldenpatches of grassy valleys, lost in the canyons. All these swept away ina vast billowy ocean of wilderness to become dim in the purple ofdistance. And the sun was setting in a blaze of gold. From the rim Itook a last lingering look and did not marvel that I loved thiswonderland of Arizona. 

[Illustration: BURROS PACKED FOR THE TRAIL]

[Illustration: THE DEADLY CHOLLA, MOST POISONOUS AND PAIN INFLICTING OFTHE CACTUS]

CHAPTER V

DEATH VALLEY

Of the five hundred and fifty-seven thousand square miles of desert-landin the southwest Death Valley is the lowest below sea level, the mostarid and desolate. It derives its felicitous name from the earliest daysof the gold strike in California, when a caravan of Mormons, numberingabout seventy, struck out from Salt Lake, to cross the Mojave Desert andmake a short cut to the gold fields. All but two of these prospectorsperished in the deep, iron-walled, ghastly sink-holes, which from thattime became known as Death Valley. 

The survivors of this fatal expedition brought news to the world thatthe sombre valley of death was a treasure mine of minerals; and sincethen hundreds of prospectors and wanderers have lost their lives there. To seek gold and to live in the lonely waste places of the earth havebeen and ever will be driving passions of men. 

My companion on this trip was a Norwegian named Nielsen. On most of mytrips to lonely and wild places I have been fortunate as to comrades orguides. The circumstances of my meeting Nielsen were so singular that Ithink they will serve as an interesting introduction. Some years ago Ireceived a letter, brief, clear and well-written, in which the writerstated that he had been a wanderer over the world, a sailor before themast, and was now a prospector for gold. He had taken four trips alonedown into the desert of Sonora, and in many other places of thesouthwest, and knew the prospecting game. Somewhere he had run across mystory Desert Gold in which I told about a lost gold mine. And thepoint of his letter was that if I could give him some idea as to wherethe lost gold mine was located he would go find it and give me half. Hisname was Sievert Nielsen. I wrote him that to my regret the lost goldmine existed only in my imagination, but if he would come to Avalon tosee me perhaps we might both profit by such a meeting. To my surprise hecame. He was a man of about thirty-five, of magnificent physique, weighing about one hundred and ninety, and he was so enormously broadacross the shoulders that he did not look his five feet ten. He had awonderful head, huge, round, solid, like a cannon-ball. And his bronzedface, his regular features, square firm jaw, and clear gray eyes, fearless and direct, were singularly attractive to me. Well educated, with a strange calm poise, and a cool courtesy, not common in Americans, he evidently was a man of good family, by his own choice a rolling stoneand adventurer. 

Nielsen accompanied me on two trips into the wilderness of Arizona, onone of which he saved my life, and on the other he rescued all our partyfrom a most uncomfortable and possibly hazardous situation--but theseare tales I may tell elsewhere. In January 1919 Nielsen and I traveledaround the desert of southern California from Palm Springs to Picacho, and in March we went to Death Valley. 

Nowadays a little railroad, the Tonapah and Tidewater Railroad, runsnorthward from the Santa Fe over the barren Mojave, and it passes withinfifty miles of Death Valley. 

It was sunset when we arrived at Death Valley Junction--a weird, strangesunset in drooping curtains of transparent cloud, lighting up darkmountain ranges, some peaks of which were clear-cut and black againstthe sky, and others veiled in trailing storms, and still others whitewith snow. That night in the dingy little store I heard prospectors talkabout float, which meant gold on the surface, and about high gradeores, zinc, copper, silver, lead, manganese, and about how borax wasmined thirty years ago, and hauled out of Death Valley by teams oftwenty mules. Next morning, while Nielsen packed the outfit, I visitedthe borax mill. It was the property of an English firm, and the work ofhauling, grinding, roasting borax ore went on day and night. Inside itwas as dusty and full of a powdery atmosphere as an old-fashioned flourmill. The ore was hauled by train from some twenty miles over toward thevalley, and was dumped from a high trestle into shutes that fed thegrinders. For an hour I watched this constant stream of borax as it sliddown into the hungry crushers, and I listened to the chalk-facedoperator who yelled in my ear. Once he picked a piece of gypsum out ofthe borax. He said the mill was getting out twenty-five hundred sacks aday. The most significant thing he said was that men did not last longat such labor, and in the mines six months appeared to be the limit ofhuman endurance. How soon I had enough of that choking air in the roomwhere the borax was ground! And the place where the borax was roasted inhuge round revolving furnaces--I found that intolerable. When I got outinto the cool clean desert air I felt an immeasurable relief. And thatrelief made me thoughtful of the lives of men who labored, who werechained by necessity, by duty or habit, or by love, to the hard tasks ofthe world. It did not seem fair. These laborers of the borax mines andmills, like the stokers of ships, and coal-diggers, and blast-furnacehands--like thousands and millions of men, killed themselves outright orimpaired their strength, and when they were gone or rendered uselessothers were found to take their places. Whenever I come in contact withsome phase of this problem of life I take the meaning or the lesson ofit to myself. And as the years go by my respect and reverence andwonder increase for these men of elemental lives, these horny-handedtoilers with physical things, these uncomplaining users of brawn andbone, these giants who breast the elements, who till the earth andhandle iron, who fight the natural forces with their bodies. 

That day about noon I looked back down the long gravel and greasewoodslope which we had ascended and I saw the borax-mill now only a smokyblot on the desert floor. When we reached the pass between the BlackMountains and the Funeral Mountains we left the road, and were soon lostto the works of man. How strange a gladness, a relief! Something droppedaway from me. I felt the same subtle change in Nielsen. For one thing hestopped talking, except an occasional word to the mules. 

The blunt end of the Funeral Range was as remarkable as its name. Itsheered up very high, a saw-toothed range with colored strata tilted atan angle of forty-five degrees. Zigzag veins of black and red andyellow, rather dull, ran through the great drab-gray mass. This end ofthe range, an iron mountain, frowned down upon us with hard andformidable aspect. The peak was draped in streaky veils of rain fromlow-dropping clouds that appeared to have lodged there. All below layclear and cold in the sunlight. 

[Illustration: THE COLORED CALICO MOUNTAINS]

[Illustration: DOWN THE LONG WINDING WASH TO DEATH VALLEY]

Our direction lay to the westward, and at that altitude, about threethousand feet, how pleasant to face the sun! For the wind was cold. Thenarrow shallow wash leading down from the pass deepened, widened, almostimperceptibly at first, and then gradually until its proportions werestriking. It was a gully where the gravel washed down during rains, andwhere a scant vegetation, greasewood, and few low cacti and scrubby sagestruggled for existence. Not a bird or lizard or living creature insight! The trail was getting lonely. From time to time I looked back, because as we could not see far ahead all the superb scene spread andtowered behind us. By and bye our wash grew to be a wide canyon, windingaway from under the massive, impondering wall of the Funeral Range. Thehigh side of this magnificent and impressive line of mountains facedwest--a succession of unscalable slopes of bare ragged rock, jagged andjutted, dark drab, rusty iron, with gray and oblique strata runningthrough them far as eye could see. Clouds soared around the peaks. Shadows sailed along the slopes. 

[Illustration: DESOLATION AND DECAY. LOOKING DOWN OVER THE DENUDEDRIDGES TO THE STARK VALLEY OF DEATH]

Walking in loose gravel was as hard as trudging along in sand. Afterabout fifteen miles I began to have leaden feet. I did not mind hardwork, but I wanted to avoid over-exertion. When I am extremely weariedmy feelings are liable to be colored somewhat by depression ormelancholy. Then it always bothered me to get tired while Nielsen kepton with his wonderful stride. 

"Say, Nielsen, do you take me for a Yaqui?" I complained. "Slow up alittle. "

Then he obliged me, and to cheer me up he told me about a littletramping experience he had in Baja California. Somewhere on the eastslope of the Sierra Madre his burros strayed or were killed bymountain-lions, and he found it imperative to strike at once for thenearest ranch below the border, a distance of one hundred and fiftymiles. He could carry only so much of his outfit, and as some of it wasvaluable to him he discarded all his food except a few biscuits, and acanteen of water. Resting only a few hours, without sleep at all, hewalked the hundred and fifty miles in three days and nights. I believedthat Nielsen, by telling me such incidents of his own wild experience, inspired me to more endurance than I knew I possessed. 

As we traveled on down the canyon its dimensions continued to grow. Itfinally turned to the left, and opened out wide into a valley runningwest. A low range of hills faced us, rising in a long sweeping slant ofearth, like the incline of a glacier, to rounded spurs. Half way up thisslope, where the brown earth lightened there showed an outcropping ofclay-amber and cream and cinnamon and green, all exquisitely vivid andclear. This bright spot appeared to be isolated. Far above it rose otherclay slopes of variegated hues, red and russet and mauve and gray, andcolors indescribably merged, all running in veins through this range ofhills. We faced the west again, and descending this valley were soongreeted by a region of clay hills, bare, cone-shaped, fantastic inshade, slope, and ridge, with a high sharp peak dominating all. Thecolors were mauve, taupe, pearl-gray, all stained by a descending bandof crimson, as if a higher slope had been stabbed to let its life bloodflow down. The softness, the richness and beauty of this texture ofearth amazed and delighted my eyes. 

Quite unprepared, at time approaching sunset, we reached and rounded asharp curve, to see down and far away, and to be held mute in ourtracks. Between a white-mantled mountain range on the left and thedark-striped lofty range on the right I could see far down into a gulf, a hazy void, a vast stark valley that seemed streaked and ridged andcanyoned, an abyss into which veils of rain were dropping and over whichbroken clouds hung, pierced by red and gold rays. 

Death Valley! Far down and far away still, yet confounding at firstsight! I gazed spellbound. It oppressed my heart. Nielsen stood like astatue, silent, absorbed for a moment, then he strode on. I followed, and every second saw more and different aspects, that could not, however, change the first stunning impression. Immense, unreal, weird! Iwent on down the widening canyon, looking into that changing void. Howfull of color! It smoked. The traceries of streams or shining whitewashes brightened the floor of the long dark pit. Patches and plains ofwhite, borax flats or alkali, showed up like snow. A red haze, sinisterand sombre, hung over the eastern ramparts of this valley, and over thewestern drooped gray veils of rain, like thinnest lacy clouds, throughwhich gleams of the sun shone. 

Nielsen plodded on, mindful of our mules. But I lingered, and at lastchecked my reluctant steps at an open high point with commanding andmagnificent view. As I did not attempt the impossible--to write downthoughts and sensations--afterward I could remember only a few. Howdesolate and grand! The far-away, lonely and terrible places of theearth were the most beautiful and elevating. Life's little day seemed soeasy to understand, so pitiful. As the sun began to set and thestorm-clouds moved across it this wondrous scene darkened, changed everymoment, brightened, grew full of luminous red light and then streaked bygolden gleams. The tips of the Panamint Mountains came out silver abovethe purple clouds. At sunset the moment was glorious--dark, forbidding, dim, weird, dismal, yet still tinged with gold. Not like any otherscene! Dante's Inferno! Valley of Shadows! Canyon of Purple Veils!

When the sun had set and all that upheaved and furrowed world of rockhad received a mantle of gray, and a slumberous sulphurous ruddy hazeslowly darkened to purple and black, then I realized more fully that Iwas looking down into Death Valley. 

Twilight was stealing down when I caught up with Nielsen. He hadselected for our camp a protected nook near where the canyon floor boresome patches of sage, the stalks and roots of which would serve forfirewood. We unpacked, fed the mules some grain, pitched our littletent and made our bed all in short order. But it was dark long beforewe had supper. During the meal we talked a little, but afterward, whenthe chores were done, and the mules had become quiet, and the strangethick silence had settled down upon us, we did not talk at all. 

The night was black, with sky mostly obscured by clouds. A pale hazemarked the west where the after glow had faded; in the south one radiantstar crowned a mountain peak. I strolled away in the darkness and satdown upon a stone. How intense the silence! Dead, vast, sepulchre-like, dreaming, waiting, a silence of ages, burdened with the history of thepast, awful! I strained my ears for sound of insect or rustle of sage ordrop of weathered rock. The soft cool desert wind was soundless. Thissilence had something terrifying in it, making me a man alone on theearth. The great spaces, the wild places as they had been millions ofyears before! I seemed to divine how through them man might develop fromsavage to a god, and how alas! he might go back again. 

When I returned to camp Nielsen had gone to bed and the fire had burnedlow. I threw on some branches of sage. The fire blazed up. But it seemeddifferent from other camp-fires. No cheer, no glow, no sparkle! Perhapsit was owing to scant and poor wood. Still I thought it was owing asmuch to the place. The sadness, the loneliness, the desolateness of thisplace weighed upon the camp-fire the same as it did upon my heart. 

We got up at five-thirty. At dawn the sky was a cold leaden gray, with adull gold and rose in the east. A hard wind, eager and nipping, blew upthe canyon. At six o'clock the sky brightened somewhat and the day didnot promise so threatening. 

An hour later we broke camp. Traveling in the early morning waspleasant and we made good time down the winding canyon, arriving atFurnace Creek about noon, where we halted to rest. This stream of warmwater flowed down from a gully that headed up in the Funeral Mountains. It had a disagreeable taste, somewhat acrid and soapy. A green thicketof brush was indeed welcome to the eye. It consisted of a rank coarsekind of grass, and arrowweed, mesquite, and tamarack. The last namedbore a pink fuzzy blossom, not unlike pussy-willow, which was quitefragrant. Here the deadness of the region seemed further enlivened byseveral small birds, speckled and gray, two ravens, and a hawk. They allappeared to be hunting food. On a ridge above Furnace Creek we came upona spring of poison water. It was clear, sparkling, with a greenish cast, and it deposited a white crust on the margins. Nielsen, kicking aroundin the sand, unearthed a skull, bleached and yellow, yet evidently notso very old. Some thirsty wanderer had taken his last drink at thatdeceiving spring. The gruesome and the beautiful, the tragic and thesublime, go hand in hand down the naked shingle of this desolate desert. 

While tramping around in the neighborhood of Furnace Creek I happenedupon an old almost obliterated trail. It led toward the ridges of clay, and when I had climbed it a little ways I began to get an impressionthat the slopes on the other side must run down into a basin or canyon. So I climbed to the top. 

The magnificent scenes of desert and mountain, like the splendid thingsof life, must be climbed for. In this instance I was suddenly andstunningly confronted by a yellow gulf of cone-shaped and fan-shapedridges, all bare crinkly clay, of gold, of amber, of pink, of bronze, ofcream, all tapering down to round-knobbed lower ridges, bleak andbarren, yet wonderfully beautiful in their stark purity of denudation;until at last far down between two widely separated hills shone, dim andblue and ghastly, with shining white streaks like silver streams--theValley of Death. Then beyond it climbed the league-long red slope, merging into the iron-buttressed base of the Panamint Range, and hereline on line, and bulge on bulge rose the bold benches, and on up theunscalable outcroppings of rock, like colossal ribs of the earth, on andup the steep slopes to where their density of blue black color began tothin out with streaks of white, and thence upward to the last nobleheight, where the cold pure snow gleamed against the sky. 

I descended into this yellow maze, this world of gullies and ridgeswhere I found it difficult to keep from getting lost. I did lose mybearings, but as my boots made deep imprints in the soft clay I knew itwould be easy to back-track my trail. After a while this labyrinthineseries of channels and dunes opened into a wide space enclosed on threesides by denuded slopes, mostly yellow. These slopes were smooth, graceful, symmetrical, with tiny tracery of erosion, and each appearedto retain its own color, yellow or cinnamon or mauve. But they werealways dominated by a higher one of a different color. And this mysticregion sloped and slanted to a great amphitheater that was walled on theopposite side by a mountain of bare earth, of every hue, and of athousand ribbed and scalloped surfaces. At its base the golds andrussets and yellows were strongest, but ascending its slopes werechanging colors--a dark beautiful mouse color on one side and a strangepearly cream on the other. Between these great corners of the curveclimbed ridges of gray and heliotrope and amber, to meet wonderful veinsof green--green as the sea in sunlight--and tracery of white--and on thebold face of this amphitheater, high up, stood out a zigzag belt of dullred, the stain of which had run down to tinge the other hues. Above allthis wondrous coloration upheaved the bare breast of the mountain, growing darker with earthy browns, up to the gray old rock ramparts. 

This place affected me so strangely, so irresistibly that I remainedthere a long time. Something terrible had happened there to men. I feltthat. Something tragic was going on right then--the wearing down, thedevastation of the old earth. How plainly that could be seen!Geologically it was more remarkable to me than the Grand Canyon. But itwas the appalling meaning, the absolutely indescribable beauty thatovercame me. I thought of those who had been inspiration to me in mywork, and I suffered a pang that they could not be there to see and feelwith me. 

On my way out of this amphitheater a hard wind swooped down over theslopes, tearing up the colored dust in sheets and clouds. It seemed tome each gully had its mystic pall of color. I lost no time climbing out. What a hot choking ordeal! But I never would have missed it even had Iknown I would get lost. Looking down again the scene was vastly changed. A smoky weird murky hell with the dull sun gleaming magenta-hued throughthe shifting pall of dust!

In the afternoon we proceeded leisurely, through an atmosphere growingwarmer and denser, down to the valley, reaching it at dusk. We followedthe course of Furnace Creek and made camp under some cottonwood trees, on the west slope of the valley. 

The wind blew a warm gale all night. I lay awake a while and slept withvery little covering. Toward dawn the gale died away. I was up atfive-thirty. The morning broke fine, clear, balmy. A flare of palegleaming light over the Funeral Range heralded the sunrise. The tips ofthe higher snow-capped Panamints were rose colored, and below them theslopes were red. The bulk of the range showed dark. All these featuresgradually brightened until the sun came up. How blazing and intense! Thewind began to blow again. Under the cottonwoods with their rustlingleaves, and green so soothing to the eye, it was very pleasant. 

Beyond our camp stood green and pink thickets of tamarack, and some darkvelvety green alfalfa fields, made possible by the spreading of FurnaceCreek over the valley slope. A man lived there, and raised this alfalfafor the mules of the borax miners. He lived there alone and his wasindeed a lonely, wonderful, and terrible life. At this season a fewShoshone Indians were camped near, helping him in his labors. This lonerancher's name was Denton, and he turned out to be a brother of aDenton, hunter and guide, whom I had met in Lower California. 

[Illustration: DESERT GRAVES]

[Illustration: THE GHASTLY SWEEP OF DEATH VALLEY]

Like all desert men, used to silence, Denton talked with difficulty, butthe content of his speech made up for its brevity. He told us about thewanderers and prospectors he had rescued from death by starvation andthirst; he told us about the terrific noonday heat of summer; and aboutthe incredible and horrible midnight furnace gales that swept down thevalley. With the mercury at one hundred and twenty-five degrees atmidnight, below the level of the sea, when these furnace blasts boredown upon him, it was just all he could do to live. No man could spendmany summers there. As for white women--Death Valley was fatal to them. The Indians spent the summers up on the mountains. Denton said heataffected men differently. Those who were meat eaters or alcoholdrinkers, could not survive. Perfect heart and lungs were necessary tostand the heat and density of atmosphere below sea level. He told of aman who had visited his cabin, and had left early in the day, vigorous and strong. A few hours later he was found near the oasisunable to walk, crawling on his hands and knees, dragging a full canteenof water. He never knew what ailed him. It might have been heat, for thethermometer registered one hundred and thirty-five, and it might havebeen poison gas. Another man, young, of heavy and powerful build, lostseventy pounds weight in less than two days, and was nearly dead whenfound. The heat of Death Valley quickly dried up blood, tissue, bone. Denton told of a prospector who started out at dawn strong and rational, to return at sunset so crazy that he had to be tied to keep him out ofthe water. To have drunk his fill then would have killed him! He had tobe fed water by spoonful. Another wanderer came staggering into theoasis, blind, with horrible face, and black swollen tongue protruding. He could not make a sound. He also had to be roped, as if he were a madsteer. 

[Illustration: IN THE CENTER OF THE SALT-INCRUSTED FLOOR OF DEATHVALLEY, THREE HUNDRED FEET BELOW SEA LEVEL]

I met only one prospector during my stay in Death Valley. He camped withus. A rather undersized man he was, yet muscular, with brown wrinkledface and narrow dim eyes. He seemed to be smiling to himself most of thetime. He liked to talk to his burros. He was exceedingly interesting. Once he nearly died of thirst, having gone from noon one day till nextmorning without water. He said he fell down often during this ordeal, but did not lose his senses. Finally the burros saved his life. This oldfellow had been across Death Valley every month in the year. July wasthe worst. In that month crossing should not be attempted during themiddle of the day. 

I made the acquaintance of the Shoshone Indians, or rather throughNielsen I met them. Nielsen had a kindly, friendly way with Indians. There were half a dozen families, living in squalid tents. The bravesworked in the fields for Denton and the squaws kept to the shade withtheir numerous children. They appeared to be poor. Certainly they were aragged unpicturesque group. Nielsen and I visited them, taking anarmload of canned fruit, and boxes of sweet crackers, which theyreceived with evident joy. Through this overture I got a peep into oneof the tents. The simplicity and frugality of the desert Piute or Navajowere here wanting. These children of the open wore white men's appareland ate white men's food; and they even had a cook stove and a sewingmachine in their tent. With all that they were trying to live likeIndians. For me the spectacle was melancholy. Another manifestationadded to my long list of degeneration of the Indians by the whites! Thetent was a buzzing beehive of flies. I never before saw so many. In acorner I saw a naked Indian baby asleep on a goat skin, all his brownwarm-tinted skin spotted black with flies. 

Later in the day one of the Indian men called upon us at our camp. I wassurprised to hear him use good English. He said he had been educated ina government school in California. From him I learned considerable aboutDeath Valley. As he was about to depart, on the way to his labor in thefields, he put his hand in his ragged pocket and drew forth an oldbeaded hat band, and with calm dignity, worthy of any gift, he made me apresent of it. Then he went on his way. The incident touched me. I hadbeen kind. The Indian was not to be outdone. How that reminded me of themany instances of pride in Indians! Who yet has ever told the story ofthe Indian--the truth, the spirit, the soul of his tragedy?

Nielsen and I climbed high up the west slope to the top of a gravelridge swept clean and packed hard by the winds. Here I sat down while mycompanion tramped curiously around. At my feet I found a tiny flower, sotiny as to almost defy detection. The color resembled sage-gray and ithad the fragrance of sage. Hard to find and wonderful to see--was itstiny blossom! The small leaves were perfectly formed, very soft, veinedand scalloped, with a fine fuzz and a glistening sparkle. That desertflower of a day, in its isolation and fragility, yet its unquenchablespirit to live, was as great to me as the tremendous reddening bulk ofthe Funeral Mountains looming so sinisterly over me. 

Then I saw some large bats with white heads flitting around in zigzagflights--assuredly new and strange creatures to me. 

I had come up there to this high ridge to take advantage of the bleaklonely spot commanding a view of valley and mountains. Before I couldcompose myself to watch the valley I made the discovery that near mewere six low gravelly mounds. Graves! One had two stones at head andfoot. Another had no mark at all. The one nearest me had for the head aflat piece of board, with lettering so effaced by weather that I couldnot decipher the inscription. The bones of a horse lay littered aboutbetween the graves. What a lonely place for graves! Death Valley seemedto be one vast sepulchre. What had been the lives and deaths of thesepeople buried here? Lonely, melancholy, nameless graves upon the windydesert slope!

By this time the long shadows had begun to fall. Sunset over DeathValley! A golden flare burned over the Panamints--long tapering notchedmountains with all their rugged conformation showing. Above floated goldand gray and silver-edged clouds--below shone a whorl of dusky, ruddybronze haze, gradually thickening. Dim veils of heat still rose from thepale desert valley. As I watched all before me seemed to change and beshrouded in purple. How bold and desolate a scene! What vast scale andtremendous dimension! The clouds paled, turned rosy for a moment withthe afterglow, then deepened into purple gloom. A sombre smoky sunset, as if this Death Valley was the gateway of hell, and its sinister shadeswere upflung from fire. 

The desert day was done and now the desert twilight descended. Twilightof hazy purple fell over the valley of shadows. The black bold lines ofmountains ran across the sky and down into the valley and up on theother side. A buzzard sailed low in the foreground--fitting emblem oflife in all that wilderness of suggested death. This fleeting hour wastranquil and sad. What little had it to do with the destiny of man!Death Valley was only a ragged rent of the old earth, from which men intheir folly and passion, had sought to dig forth golden treasure. Theair held a solemn stillness. Peace! How it rested my troubled soul! Ifelt that I was myself here, far different from my habitual self. Whyhad I longed to see Death Valley? What did I want of the desert that wasnaked, red, sinister, sombre, forbidding, ghastly, stark, dim and darkand dismal, the abode of silence and loneliness, the proof of death, decay, devastation and destruction, the majestic sublimity ofdesolation? The answer was that I sought the awful, the appalling andterrible because they harked me back to a primitive day where my bloodand bones were bequeathed their heritage of the elements. That was thesecret of the eternal fascination the desert exerted upon all men. Itcarried them back. It inhibited thought. It brought up the age-oldsensations, so that I could feel, though I did not know it then, onceagain the all-satisfying state of the savage in nature. 

When I returned to camp night had fallen. The evening star stood high inthe pale sky, all alone and difficult to see, yet the more beautiful forthat. The night appeared to be warmer or perhaps it was because no windblew. Nielsen got supper, and ate most of it, for I was not hungry. As Isat by the camp-fire a flock of little bats, the smallest I had everseen, darted from the wood-pile nearby and flew right in my face. Theyhad no fear of man or fire. Their wings made a soft swishing sound. Later I heard the trill of frogs, which was the last sound I might haveexpected to hear in Death Valley. A sweet high-pitched melodious trillit reminded me of the music made by frogs in the Tamaulipas Jungle ofMexico. Every time I awakened that night, and it was often, I heard thistrill. Once, too, sometime late, my listening ear caught faint mournfulnotes of a killdeer. How strange, and still sweeter than the trill! Whata touch to the infinite silence and loneliness! A killdeer--bird of theswamps and marshes--what could he be doing in arid and barren DeathValley? Nature is mysterious and inscrutable. 

Next morning the marvel of nature was exemplified even more strikingly. Out on the hard gravel-strewn slope I found some more tiny flowers of aday. One was a white daisy, very frail and delicate on long thin stemwith scarcely any leaves. Another was a yellow flower, with four petals, a pale miniature California poppy. Still another was a purple-redflower, almost as large as a buttercup, with dark green leaves. Last andtiniest of all were infinitely fragile pink and white blossoms, on veryflat plants, smiling wanly up from the desolate earth. 

Nielsen and I made known to Denton our purpose to walk across thevalley. He advised against it. Not that the heat was intense at thisseason, he explained, but there were other dangers, particularly thebrittle salty crust of the sink-hole. Nevertheless we were not deterredfrom our purpose. 

So with plenty of water in canteens and a few biscuits in our pocketswe set out. I saw the heat veils rising from the valley floor, at thatpoint one hundred and seventy-eight feet below sea level. The heatlifted in veils, like thin smoke. Denton had told us that in summer theheat came in currents, in waves. It blasted leaves, burned trees todeath as well as men. Prospectors watched for the leaden haze thatthickened over the mountains, knowing then no man could dare theterrible sun. That day would be a hazed and glaring hell, leaden, copper, with sun blazing a sky of molten iron. 

A long sandy slope of mesquite extended down to the bare crinkly floorof the valley, and here the descent to a lower level was scarcelyperceptible. The walking was bad. Little mounds in the salty crust madeit hard to place a foot on the level. This crust appeared fairly strong. But when it rang hollow under our boots, then I stepped very cautiously. The color was a dirty gray and yellow. Far ahead I could see a dazzlingwhite plain that looked like frost or a frozen river. The atmosphere wasdeceptive, making this plain seem far away and then close at hand. 

The excessively difficult walking and the thickness of the air tired me, so I plumped myself down to rest, and used my note-book as a means toconceal from the tireless Nielsen that I was fatigued. Always I foundthis a very efficient excuse, and for that matter it was profitable forme. I have forgotten more than I have ever written. 

Rather overpowering, indeed, was it to sit on the floor of Death Valley, miles from the slopes that appeared so far away. It was flat, salty, alkali or borax ground, crusted and cracked. The glare hurt my eyes. Ifelt moist, hot, oppressed, in spite of a rather stiff wind. A dry odorpervaded the air, slightly like salty dust. Thin dust devils whirled onthe bare flats. A valley-wide mirage shone clear as a mirror along thedesert floor to the west, strange, deceiving, a thing both unreal andbeautiful. The Panamints towered a wrinkled red grisly mass, broken byrough canyons, with long declines of talus like brown glaciers. Seamedand scarred! Indestructible by past ages, yet surely wearing to ruin!From this point I could not see the snow on the peaks. The wholemountain range seemed an immense red barrier of beetling rock. TheFuneral Range was farther away and therefore more impressive. Its effectwas stupendous. Leagues of brown chocolate slopes, scarred by slashes ofyellow and cream, and shadowed black by sailing clouds, led up to themagnificently peaked and jutted summits. 

Splendid as this was and reluctant as I felt to leave I soon joinedNielsen, and we proceeded onward. At last we reached the white windingplain, that had resembled a frozen river, and which from afar had lookedso ghastly and stark. We found it to be a perfectly smooth stratum ofsalt glistening as if powdered. It was not solid, not stable. Atpressure of a boot it shook like jelly. Under the white crust lay ayellow substance that was wet. Here appeared an obstacle we had notcalculated upon. Nielsen ventured out on it and his feet sank in severalinches. I did not like the wave of the crust. It resembled thin iceunder a weight. Presently I ventured to take a few steps, and did notsink in so deeply or make such depression in the crust as Nielsen. Wereturned to the solid edge and deliberated. Nielsen said that bystepping quickly we could cross without any great risk, though itappeared reasonable that by standing still a person would sink into thesubstance. 

"Well, Nielsen, you go ahead, " I said, with an attempt at lightness. "You weigh one hundred and ninety. If you go through I'll turn back!"

Nielsen started with a laugh. The man courted peril. The bright face ofdanger must have been beautiful and alluring to him. I started afterhim--caught up with him--and stayed beside him. I could not have walkedbehind him over that strip of treacherous sink-hole. If I could havedone so the whole adventure would have been meaningless to me. Nevertheless I was frightened. I felt the prickle of my skin, thestiffening of my hair, as well as the cold tingling thrills along myveins. 

This place was the lowest point of the valley, in that particularlocation, and must have been upwards of two hundred feet below sealevel. The lowest spot, called the Sink Hole, lay some miles distant, and was the terminus of this river of salty white. 

We crossed it in safety. On the other side extended a long flat ofupheaved crusts of salt and mud, full of holes and pitfalls, anexceedingly toilsome and painful place to travel, and for all we couldtell, dangerous too. I had all I could do to watch my feet and findsurfaces to hold my steps. Eventually we crossed this broken field, reaching the edge of the gravel slope, where we were very glad indeed torest. 

Denton had informed us that the distance was seven miles across thevalley at the mouth of Furnace Creek. I had thought it seemed much lessthan that. But after I had toiled across it I was convinced that it wasmuch more. It had taken us hours. How the time had sped! For this reasonwe did not tarry long on that side. 

Facing the sun we found the return trip more formidable. Hot indeed itwas--hot enough for me to imagine how terrible Death Valley would be inJuly or August. On all sides the mountains stood up dim and obscure anddistant in haze. The heat veils lifted in ripples, and any object notnear at hand seemed illusive. Nielsen set a pace for me on this returntrip. I was quicker and surer of foot than he, but he had moreendurance. I lost strength while he kept his unimpaired. So often he hadto wait for me. Once when I broke through the crust he happened to beclose at hand and quickly hauled me out. I got one foot wet with someacid fluid. We peered down into the murky hole. Nielsen quoted aprospector's saying: "Forty feet from hell!" That broken sharp crust ofsalt afforded the meanest traveling I had ever experienced. Slopes ofweathered rock that slip and slide are bad; cacti, and especially choyacacti, are worse: the jagged and corrugated surfaces of lava are stillmore hazardous and painful. But this cracked floor of Death Valley, withits salt crusts standing on end, like pickets of a fence, beat any placefor hard going that either Nielsen or I ever had encountered. I ruinedmy boots, skinned my shins, cut my hands. How those salt cuts stung! Wecrossed the upheaved plain, then the strip of white, and reached thecrinkly floor of yellow salt. The last hour taxed my endurance almost tothe limit. When we reached the edge of the sand and the beginning of theslope I was hotter and thirstier than I had ever been in my life. Itpleased me to see Nielsen wringing wet and panting. He drank a quart ofwater apparently in one gulp. And it was significant that I took thelongest and deepest drink of water that I had ever had. 

We reached camp at the end of this still hot summer day. Never had acamp seemed so welcome! What a wonderful thing it was to earn andappreciate and realize rest! The cottonwood leaves were rustling; beeswere humming in the tamarack blossoms. I lay in the shade, resting myburning feet and achiag bones, and I watched Nielsen as he whistledover the camp chores. Then I heard the sweet song of a meadow lark, andafter that the melodious deep note of a swamp blackbird. These birdsevidently were traveling north and had tarried at the oasis. 

Lying there I realized that I had come to love the silence, theloneliness, the serenity, even the tragedy of this valley of shadows. Death Valley was one place that could never be popular with men. It hadbeen set apart for the hardy diggers for earthen treasure, and for thewanderers of the wastelands--men who go forth to seek and to find and toface their souls. Perhaps most of them found death. But there was adeath in life. Desert travelers learned the secret that men lived toomuch in the world--that in silence and loneliness and desolation therewas something infinite, something hidden from the crowd.