ays afternoon.

Next day we rode from Natural Bridge to Payson in four and a half
hours. Payson appeared to be an old hamlet, retaining many frontier
characteristics such as old board and stone houses with high fronts,
hitching posts and pumps on sidewalks, and one street so wide that it
resembled a Mexican plaza. Payson contained two stores, where I hoped
to 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 appeared
extremely slim. But we had visitors, and one of them was a stalwart,
dark-skinned rider named Copple, who introduced himself by saying he
would have come a good way to meet the writer of certain books he had
profited by. When he learned of the loss of my rifle and that I could
not purchase one anywhere he pressed upon me his own. I refused with
thanks, but he would not take no. The upshot of it was that he lent
me his .30 Government Winchester, and gave me several boxes of
ammunition. Also he presented me with a cowhide lasso. Whereupon
Romer-boy took a shine to Copple at once. "Say, you look like an
Indian," he declared. With a laugh Copple replied: "I am part Indian,
sonny." Manifestly that settled his status with Romer, for he piped
up: "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 of
the journey in, and in order to make it and reach a good camping site
I got up at three o'clock in the morning to rout everybody out. It
was pitch dark until we kindled fires. Then everybody rustled to such
purpose that we were ready to start before dawn, and had to wait a
little for light enough to see where we were going. This procedure
tickled Romer immensely. I believed he imagined he was in a pioneer
caravan. The gray breaking of dawn, the coming of brighter light, the
rose and silver of the rising sun, and the riding in its face, with
the air so tangy and nipping, were circumstances that inspired me as
the adventurous start pleased Romer. The brush and cactus-lined road
was rough, up hill and down, with ever increasing indications that
it was seldom used. From the tops of high points I could see black
foothills, round, cone-shaped, flat-topped, all leading the gaze
toward the great yellow and red wall of the mesa, with its fringed
borderline, wild and beckoning.

We walked our horses, trotted, loped, and repeated the order, over
and over, hour by hour, mile after