CHAPTER VII 



SNAKE GULCH 



NOT far from the scene of our adventures 

 with the White Streak, as we facetiously 

 and appreciatively named the mustang, a 

 deep, flat cave indented the canon wall. By reason of 

 its sandy floor and close proximity to Frank s tric 

 kling spring, we decided to camp in it. About dark, 

 Lawson and Stewart straggled in on spent horses, 

 and found awaiting them a bright fire, a hot supper 

 anj cheery comrades. 



&quot; Did yu fellars git to see him?&quot; was the tall 

 ranger s first question. 



&quot; Did we get to see him? &quot; echoed five lusty voices 

 is one. &quot;We did!&quot; 



It was after Frank, in his plain, blunt speech, had 

 old of our experience, that the long Arizonian gazed 

 ixedly at Jones. 



&quot; Did yu acktully tech the hair of thet mustang 

 with a rope? &quot; 



In all his days Jones never had a greater compli- 

 nent. By way of reply, he moved his big hand to a 

 button of his coat, and, fumbline* over it. 



123 



