The Last of the Plainsmen 



slides of rim wall, broken into blocks, massed under 

 the promontories. 



The singular raggedness and wildness of the scene 

 took hold of me, and was not dispelled until the 

 baying of Sounder and Don roused action in me. 

 Apparently the hounds were widely separated. Then 

 I heard Jim s yell. But it ceased when the wind 

 lulled, and I heard it no more. Running back from 

 the point, I began to go down. The way was steep, 

 almost perpendicular; but because of the great stones 

 and the absence of slides, was easy. I took long 

 strides and jumps, and slid over rocks, and swung on 

 pinon branches, and covered distance like a rolling 

 stone. At the foot of the rim wall, or at a line 

 where it would have reached had it extended regu 

 larly, the slope became less pronounced. I could 

 stand up without holding on to a support. The 

 largest pifions I had seen made a forest that almost 

 stood on end. These trees grew up, down, and out, 

 and twisted in curves, and many were two feet in 

 thickness. During my descent, I halted at intervals 

 to listen, and always heard one of the hounds, some 

 times several. But as I descended for a long time, 

 and did not get anywhere or approach the dogs, I 

 began to grow impatient. 



A large pinon, with a dead top, suggested a good 

 outlook, so I climbed it, and saw I could sweep a 



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