THE FIRST LION 



thorn scrub, sweeping upward to the base of cas- 

 tellated buttes and one tremendous riven cliff moun- 

 tain, dropping over the horizon to a very distant 

 blue range. Behind us eight or ten miles away was 

 the low ridge through which our journey had come. 

 The mesa on which we stood broke back at right 

 angles to admit another stream flowing into our 

 own. Beyond this stream were rolling hills, and 

 scrub country, the hint of blue peaks and illimitable 

 distances falling away to the unknown Tara Desert 

 and the sea. 



There seemed to be nothing much to be gained 

 here, so we made up our minds to cut across the 

 mesa, and from the other edge of it to overlook the 

 valley of the tributary river. This we would de- 

 scend until we came to our horses. 



Accordingly we stumbled across a mile or so of 

 those round and rolling stones. Then we found our- 

 selves overlooking a wide flat or pocket where the 

 stream valley widened. It extended even as far 

 as the upward fling of the barrier ranges. Thick 

 scrub covered it, but erratically, so that here and 

 there were little openings or thin places. We sat 

 down, manned our trusty prism glasses, and gave 

 ourselves to the pleasing occupation of looking the 

 country over inch by inch. 



This is great fun, It is a game a good deal like 

 loo 



