yons, sheer precipices; long streaks on
mountain sides where resistless avalanches had scraped all greenery from
the glistening rock; green amphitheaters, fit for fairy pageants;
velvety knolls and jewels of mountain pastures lay below them, with here
and there the crystal gleam of ribbon-like mountain brooks, their waters
embarked on a long, depressing journey through capricious oceans of
billowy sands and the salty leagues of desert wastes. Birds flashed
among the branches, chipmunks chattered furiously at these unheeding
invaders of their mountain fastness; high up on a beetling crag a
bighorn ram was silhouetted in rigid majesty, and over all lazily
drifted an eagle against the paling western sky, symbolical of freedom.

There came the musical tinkle of falling water and Hank stopped, raising
his hand. Into the little mountain dell the caravan wound and in a
moment muscles tired and cramped from long, hard riding found relief in
a score of little duties. While the animals were relieved of saddles and
packs and securely picketed, and a fire made of dry wood from a bleached
windfall, Hank climbed swiftly up the mountain side for a view of the
back trail. Perched on an out-thrust finger of rock high above the dell
he knelt motionless, searching with keen and critical eyes every yard of
that windswept trail, following it along its sloping length until it
shrunk into a hair line across the frowning mountain sides and then
faded out entirely. Below him grotesque figures moved about like gnomes
performing incantations around a tiny blaze; dwarfed horses cropped the
plentiful grass and succulent leaves, and a timid streamer of pale blue
smoke arose like a plumb line until the cruising gusts above the
treetops tore it into feathery wisps and carried it away. Across the
valley the rising sun pushed golden floods of light into crevices, among
the rocks, and turned the pines and cedars into glistening cones of
green on stems of jet.

"Wall," said a voice below him, "hyar I am. Go down an' feed. See
anythin'?"

Hank leaned over and looked down at the climbing figure, whose laborious
progress sent a noisy stream of clicking pebbles behind him like sparks
from a rocket.

"Nothin' I ain't plumb glad ter see," replied Hank. "This hyar beats th'
settlements all ter hell." As Jim's horrible face peered over the edge
of the rock balcony Hank eyed it critically and shook his head. "I've
seen some plumb awful lookin' 'Rapahoes; but n