uring the afternoon the ride grew hot, and very dusty. We came to a
long, open valley where the dust lay several inches deep. It had been
an unusually dry summer and fall--a fact that presaged poor luck for
our hunting--and the washes and stream-beds were bleached white. We
came to two water-holes, tanks the Arizonians called them, and they
were 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 have
slaked mine there. We faced west with the hot sun beating on us and
the dust rising in clouds. No wonder that ride was interminably long.

At last we descended a canyon, and decided to camp in a level spot
where several ravines met, in one of which a tiny stream of dear water
oozed out of the gravel. The inclosure was rocky-sloped, full of caves
and covered with pines; and the best I could say for it was that in
case of storm the camp would be well protected. We shoveled out a deep
hole in the gravel, so that it would fill up with water. Romer had
evidently enjoyed himself this day. When I asked Isbel about him the
cowboy'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's
determination to emulate the worst bandit I ever wrote about I was
tremendously glad to think of him as a cowboy. But as for myself I was
tired, and the ride had been rather unprofitable, and this camp-site,
to say the least, did not inspire me. It was neither wild nor
beautiful nor comfortable. I went early to bed and slept like a log.

The following morning some of our horses were lost. The men hunted
from daylight till ten o'clock. Then it was that I learned more about
Lee's dog Pups. At ten-thirty Lee came in with the lost horses. They
had hidden in a clump of cedars and remained perfectly quiet, as cute
as deer. Lee put Pups on their trail. Pups was a horse-trailing dog
and he soon found them. I had a change of feeling for Pups, then and
there.

[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 dusty
stretches alternated. About one o'clock we halted on the edge of a deep
wooded ravine to take our usual noonday rest. I scouted along the edge
in the hope of seeing game of some kind. Presently I h