ters of a mile in length and the ends
about a quarter of a mile. As we came to the west side we saw Jim riding
slowly along; as yet he had found nothing. Then I saw him wave his
sombrero.

"He's found it," I cried, and we started our horses at full gallop,
looking like little pygmies beside the massiveness of the great mesa
that loomed above us.

"Here's the main traveled road," he cried, as we galloped up.

"Can we make it?" cried Tom.

"Gee! she's narrow," I commented.

It extended a mere pencil line zigzaging up the face of the rock.

"Come on," cried Jim.

I knew expostulation was useless, a mere waste of breath, so I followed
behind Jim, as he started up. It was barely wide enough for our horses
and though we had taken a few narrower trails in the mountains, we had
never followed one up a precipitous cliff before and I vowed we never
would again if we ever got down safely.

Fortunately our horses were as sure footed as goats, but I shall not
easily forget the sense of dizziness I felt as I looked down. One slip
of Coyote and I would fall like Lucifer, never to rise again.

In some places there was nothing but the narrow two-foot width of rock,
with nothing to stop a slide but the earth way down below, but in most
places the path was cut into a little gully deepened by the corrosion of
the rains.

I think that Jim by the time we had got up several hundred feet repented
himself, of his foolhardy attempt. But there was nothing to do but go
on, it was impossible for us to back down, but if Jim felt worried he
did not show it by word or action to us.

There was no wind stirring and the early afternoon sun beat against the
blank wall with blinding effect. It was surprisingly hot, intense and
dry.

Every once in awhile we had to stop to spell our horses and they stood
with heads held level, and one bent hindfoot, panting with the steep
climb.

"If the Indians up there don't want us they can just toss us down," I
said. "It looks suspicious to me. Something like an ambush."

"I don't see the bush," replied Jim, "I guess they are taking their
siesta. Fine view, isn't it?"

I suppose it was, but it did not interest me just then, as I kept my
eyes riveted on Coyote's ears, not caring to look out or down. If you
want to get an idea of how I felt, step out on the jamb of a window of a
twenty story building and look down at the street, where the people
appear like crawling ants and the street cars like big coc