228 SADDLE AND CAMP 



supper on the cabin stove, and spread my blan- 

 kets on the floor. 



I had received many warnings about the trail 

 through the canon, which was said to be partic- 

 ularly dangerous. Several horses, I was told, 

 had fallen from it into the river, hundreds of 

 feet below. Booth and Rogers confirmed these 

 stories, particularly with reference to a stretch 

 known as the Blue Trail. A short time previ- 

 ously, they told me, a forest ranger's horse had 

 been lost here, and though very little traveled, 

 several horses, they asserted, were lost every 

 year in attempting to cross it. It was described 

 as only a few inches wide, hanging upon the 

 edge of a cliff, and of blue clay, which, when 

 wet, is exceedingly difficult for smooth-shod 

 horses to keep a footing upon. 



Isolated as they were and rarely enjoying any 

 companionship other than each other's and that 

 of an amiable dog, my advent was a welcome 

 break in the monotony of their life. And I was 

 glad to stay with them, for they were both men 

 of the early frontier type — a type that one 

 rarely sees these days and only meets occasion- 

 ally in such secluded spots as this. 



