Singing Cliffs 



very much pleased. &quot; I shot one the other day same 

 way, when he was feedin off a dead horse. Now 

 thet s a fine skin. Shore you cut through once or 

 twice. But he s only half lofer, the other half is 

 plain coyote. Thet accounts fer his feedin on dead 



meat.&quot; 



My naturalist host and my scientific friend both 

 remarked somewhat grumpily that I seemed to get 

 the best of all the good things. I might have retali 

 ated that I certainly had gotten the worst of all the 

 bad jokes; but, being generously happy over my 

 prize, merely remarked: &quot;If you want fame or 

 wealth or wolves, go out and hunt for them.&quot; 



Five o clock supper left a good margin of day, in 

 which my thoughts reverted to the canon. I watched 

 the purple shadows stealing out of their caverns and 

 rolling up about the base of the mesas. Jones came 

 over to where I stood, and I persuaded him to walk 

 with me along the rim wall. Twilight had stealthily 

 advanced when we reached the Singing Cliffs, and 

 we did not go out upon my promontory, but chose a 

 more comfortable one nearer the wall. 



The night breeze had not sprung up yet, so the 

 music of the cliffs was hushed. 



&quot; You cannot accept the theory of erosion to 

 account for this chasm?&quot; I asked my companion, 

 referring to a former conversation. 



249 





