sands of colors were
blended before my rapt gaze. Yellow predominated, as the walls and
crags lorded it over the lower cliffs and tables; red glared in the
sunlight; green softened these two, and then purple and violet, gray,
blue and the darker hues shaded away into dim and distinct obscurity.

Excited yells from my companions on the other crag recalled me to the
living aspect of the scene. Jones was leaning far down in a niche, at
seeming great hazard of life, yelling with all the power of his strong
lungs. Frank stood still farther out on a cracked point that made me
tremble, and his yell reenforced Jones's. From far below rolled up a
chorus of thrilling bays and yelps, and Jim's call, faint, but distinct
on that wonderfully thin air, with its unmistakable note of warning.

Then on the slide I saw a lion headed for the rim wall and climbing
fast. I added my exultant cry to the medley, and I stretched my arms
wide to that illimitable void and gloried in a moment full to the brim
of the tingling joy of existence. I did not consider how painful it
must have been to the toiling lion. It was only the spell of wild
environment, of perilous yellow crags, of thin, dry air, of voice of
man and dog, of the stinging expectation of sharp action, of life.

I watched the lion growing bigger and bigger. I saw Don and Sounder run
from the pinyon into the open slide, and heard their impetuous burst of
wild yelps as they saw their game. Then Jones's clarion yell made me
bound for my horse. I reached him, was about to mount, when Moze came
trotting toward me. I caught the old gladiator. When he heard the
chorus from below, he plunged like a mad bull. With both arms round him
I held on. I vowed never to let him get down that slide. He howled and
tore, but I held on. My big black horse with ears laid back stood like
a rock.

I heard the pattering of little sliding rocks below; stealthy padded
footsteps and hard panting breaths, almost like coughs; then the lion
passed out of the slide not twenty feet away. He saw us, and sprang
into the pinyon scrub with the leap of a scared deer.

Samson himself could no longer have held Moze. Away he darted with his
sharp, angry bark. I flung myself upon Satan and rode out to see Jones
ahead and Frank flashing through the green on the white horse.

At the end of the pinyon thicket Satan overhauled Jones's bay, and we
entered the open forest together. We saw Frank glinting across the dark
pines.