118 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



bacon, beans, potatoes, coffee, hot biscuits and 

 "lick." Our spirits, under this stimulus, rose 

 rapidly to normal. Afterward everybody helped 

 pack, and we were under way by nine o'clock. 



It was nearly a mile from camp to the main di- 

 vide, a gradual slope ending in an abrupt ascent by 

 a zigzag trail. The nervy little burros, urged on by 

 the yells of the entire outfit, made the climb cleverly. 



The saddle crossed was narrow and steep. As we 

 neared the top we saw the burros ahead worm slowly 

 upward, stand out for an instant one by one against 

 the skyline, then quickly disappear. And one by 

 one the rest of us, following in single file, reached 

 the summit and stopped. 



I shall never forget that first sight of the Animas ! 

 We were on a bare and rocky ridge. No timber 

 grew near to impede the vision. For weeks we had 

 been picturing to ourselves this scene, but now, as 

 we looked down over the maze of pinnacles, bluffs, 

 rim-rock and boxes, the welter of formidable ridges 

 and sharply cut canyons, we knew that nothing of 

 our imagining approached this terrific fact in point 

 of wildness or magnificence. 



The whole great watershed lay open to our eyes. 

 Timber grew thick and tall in the canyons, more 

 sparsely on the ridges, but the entire rocky skeleton 

 beneath was plainly visible in outline. We saw as 

 on a map the network of waterways veins of the 

 drainage system that carried the mountain rain- 

 fall and snowfall to the far plains of the Eio Grande. 



