CHAPTER II 



THE RANGE 



A~TER a much-needed rest at Emmett s, we 

 bade good-by to him and his hospitable 

 family, and under the guidance of his man 

 once more took to the wind-swept trail. We pursued 

 a southwesterly course now, following the lead of 

 the craggy red wall that stretched on and on for 

 hundreds of miles into Utah. The desert, smoky 

 and hot, fell away to the left, and in the foreground 

 a dark, irregular line marked the Grand Canon cut 

 ting through the plateau. 



The wind whipped in from the vast, open expanse, 

 and meeting an obstacle in the red wall, turned north 

 and raced past us. Jones s hat blew off, stood on 

 its rim, and rolled. It kept on rolling, thirty miles 

 an hour, more or less; so fast, at least, that we were 

 a long time catching up to it with a team of horses. 

 Possibly we never would have caught it had not a 

 stone checked its flight. Further manifestation of 

 the power of the desert wind surrounded us on all 

 sides. It had hollowed out huge stones from the 

 cliffs, and tumbled them to the plain below; and 



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