THE COWARDLY COUGAR 



perished thus we would not have to rope a live 

 lion and lug it out of the canon. But invariably 

 we got safely back to camp. Our good fortune 

 in this respect became monotonous. 



Let me state, in passing, that it is an experi- 

 ence to rim the Grand Canon in a fog. The 

 world is ghostly and unreal; objects are mag- 

 nified ; gnarled trees and queer rock formations 

 assume the likeness of prehistoric monsters, 

 and one has no more sense of direction than a 

 jellyfish. There is a constant temptation to 

 ride off into space, and no little danger of 

 doing so, for the earth's surface breaks away 

 as if it had been removed by a cleaver, and 

 when the canon is bank-full of thick vapors, 

 it looks as inviting as a feather bed. One 

 skirts it with the sensations of riding the 

 clouds on a winged steed. More than ever is 

 one amazed to learn how far the off side of a 

 horse sticks out, and when one's animal stum- 

 bles, one involuntarily bites one's left ven- 

 tricle, which in itself has an element of danger 

 in it. Occasionally the mist will thin until, 

 far below, away down between the horse's feet, 

 slim spruce-tops are dimly discernible; again 

 it will close like smothery curtains, through 

 which one must blindly push. 



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