The Last of the Plainsmen 



broken. Pinnacled cliffs, cracked and leaning, men 

 aced us from above. Mountains of ruined wall had 

 tumbled into fragments. 



It seemed that Jones, after much survey of different 

 corners, angles and points in the canon floor, chose 

 his position with much greater care than appeared 

 necessary for the ultimate success of our venture 

 which was simply to see the White Mustang, and if 

 good fortune attended us, to snap some photographs 

 of this wild king of horses. It flashed over me that, 

 with his ruling passion strong within him, our leader 

 was laying some kind of trap for that mustang, was 

 indeed bent on his capture. 



Wallace, Frank and Jim were stationed at a point 

 below the break where Stewart had evidently gone up 

 and out. How a horse could have climbed that 

 streaky white slide was a mystery. Jones s instruc 

 tions to the men were to wait until the mustangs were 

 close upon them, and then yell and shout and show 

 themselves. 



He took me to a jutting corner of cliff, which hid 

 us from the others, and here he exercised still more 

 care in scrutinizing the lay of the ground. A wash 

 from ten to fifteen feet wide, and as deep, ran through 

 the canon in a somewhat meandering course. At the 

 corner which consumed so much of his attention, the 

 dry ditch ran along the cliff wall about fifty feet out; 



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