e balanced himself lightly on his flat English
saddle, and permitted the wiry little cow pony to pick the best path
over the ledges and up the stiff slopes between the scattered pines.

In keeping with his saddle, the hunter wore English riding breeches
and leggins. Otherwise he was dressed as a Texas cowboy of the past
generation. His sombrero was almost Mexican in its size and
ornateness. But his rifle was of the latest American pattern, and in
place of the conventional Colt's he carried an automatic pistol. As
his horse patiently clambered with him up towards the top of the
escarpment the man gazed indolently about between half-closed eyelids
and inhaled the smoke from an unbroken "chain" of gilt-tipped
cigarettes.

The pony scrambled up the last ledges and came to a halt on the rim of
High Mesa. It had been a long, hard climb. Tough as he was and
mountain bred, the beast's rough coat was lathered with sweat and his
flanks were heaving. The hunter's gaze roamed carelessly over the
hilly pine-clad plateau of the upper mesa, while he took a nip of
brandy from a silver-cased flask and washed it down with a drink of
the tepid water in his canteen.

Having refreshed himself, he touched a patent lighter to another
cigarette, chose a direction at random, and spurred his pony into a
canter. The beast held to the pace until the ascent of a low but steep
ridge brought him down to a walk. With the change of gait the hunter
paused in the act of lighting a fresh cigarette, to gaze up at the
sapphire sky. The air was reverberating with a muffled sound like
distant thunder. Yet the crystal-clear dome above him showed no trace
of a cloud all across from the magnificent snowy ranges on the east
and north to the sparsely wooded mountains and sage-gray mesas to the
south and west.

"Can't be thunder," he murmured--"no sign of a storm. Must be a
stream. Ah! cool, fresh water!"

The sharp-roweled spurs goaded the pony up over the round of the ridge
as fast as he could scramble. At the top he broke into a lope and
raced headlong down the other side of the ridge through the tall
brush. The reverberating sound of water was clearer but still muffled
and distant.

The rider let his reins hang slack and recklessly dug in his spurs.
The pony leaped ahead with still greater speed and burst out of the
brush on to a narrow open slope that led down to the brink of a canyon.
The hunter saw first the precipice on the far side of the yawning