74 SADDLE AND CAMP 



Water was scarce, muddy, and unpalatable. 

 Even Grasshopper Spring, locally famous for 

 its cold sparkling water, had been reduced by 

 the unusually dry season, to a mud hole. It 

 was a delightful sound, therefore, when we 

 turned out of the valley and into a canon and 

 heard the roar of a brook, pouring down over 

 its rocky bed from the heights above, and discov- 

 ered a stream of clear cold water. Good water 

 was a luxury, and this was the first good water 

 that we had found since leaving the spring at 

 Cedar Creek. 



Our trail, which followed the brook up the 

 canon, presently faded and at length disap- 

 peared entirely among the underbrush. Here 

 began the ascent of the Mogollon Mesa. The 

 mountainside rose at a fearful angle, and at 

 several points our advance seemed cut off by 

 perpendicular cliffs, but at length slopes were 

 negotiated, cliffs circumvented, and the gentle 

 rise to the summit attained. 



Shorty was my saddle horse on this occasion. 

 I was leading him, and when we reached the 

 first level spot he began bucking in the most 

 approved fashion as a decided protest against 

 further climbing. He succeeded in shedding 

 saddle-bags, camera, and everything not tightly 

 fastened to the saddle. After purchasing 



