AMONG THE HIGH HILLS. 121 



their tops mere needles and knife crests. 

 Bands of black, red, and purple varied the 

 gray and yellow-brown of their sides ; the 

 tufts of scanty vegetation were dull green. 

 Sometimes I rode my horse at the bottom of 

 narrow washouts, between straight walls of 

 clay, but a few feet apart ; sometimes I had 

 to lead him as he scrambled up, down, and 

 across the sheer faces of the buttes. The 

 glare from the bare clay walls dazzled the 

 eye ; the air was burning under the hot August 

 sun. I saw nothing living except the rattle- 

 snakes, of which there were very many. 



At last, in the midst of this devil's wilder- 

 ness, I came on a lovely valley. A spring 

 trickled out of a cedar canyon, and below this 

 spring the narrow, deep ravine was green with 

 luscious grass and was smooth for some hun- 

 dred of yards. Here I unsaddled, and turned 

 old Manitou loose to drink and feed at his 

 leisure. At the edge of the dark cedar wood 

 I cleared a spot for my bed, and drew a few 

 dead sticks for the fire. Then I lay down 

 and watched drowsily until the afternoon 

 shadows filled the wild and beautiful gorge in 

 which I was camped. This happened early, 

 for the valley was very narrow and the hills 

 on either hand were steep and high. 



Springing to my feet, I climbed the nearest 

 ridge, and then made my way, by hard clamber- 

 ing, from peak to peak and from crest to crest, 

 sometimes crossing and sometimes skirting 

 the deep washouts and canyons. When pos- 

 sible I avoided appearing on the sky line, and 

 I moved with the utmost caution, walking in 

 a wide sweep so as to hunt across and up 



