HUNTING THE WILD GOAT 169 



hears of or sees, as it was a mere indication down the 

 steep side, and the last part of it was a sHde. No 

 Eastern horse could have been tempted even to look 

 over the edge of this abyss; but our San Clemente 

 horses, bred by our host, Mr. Charles Rowland, took 

 the trail as a matter of course, in fact, they frequently 

 made it at night. 



As we stood looking down into and up this extraordi- 

 nary rift in the lava and conglomerate, the cry of a 

 wild goat came clear and vibrant from somewhere 

 high above us, and a goat hunt was decided on. My 

 companions, Pinchot, Potter, and Howland, turned 

 their horses up the range along the edge, while I, 

 adjuring them not to take me for a goat and fire at 

 me, began the descent, purposing to climb the canon 

 from below and investigate the wonderful series of 

 caves in which the goats made their homes. 



It was interesting to watch my horse go down this 

 trail of trails. As he was familiar with it I let him go, 

 and we slid, scrambled, and struggled; then, as the 

 last forty feet was a slide on slippery rock with a sharp 

 turn, I dismounted (not that I had lost faith in my 

 steed) and slid down, as did my horse. When he 

 reached the turn, which was a sharp one at right angles, 

 he merely braced a Httle, and made it, and I still had 

 the reata when we landed in the bottom of the Canon 

 del Cueva, by, it should be added, a special dispensa- 

 tion. This was altogether the most interesting tobog- 

 gan I had ever attempted. 



Once in the canon I could see far up its winding 

 length a most fascinating vision, great cliffs rising 

 precipitously, filled in layers, pairs, and groups with 

 caves of remarkable size and appearance. One might 



