UP INTO THE CANON. 71 



dainty face above the bare sand ; next week 

 the harebell, in great clumps, nodding across the 

 field, and next month the mariposa or butter- 

 fly lily, just peeping from behind the brush, 

 with dozens of others to keep them company. 

 As one went on, the fields grew broader, the 

 walls of the mesa lowered and drew apart, till 

 the canon was lost in the wide, open country. 



This was the favorite evening walk, with all 

 the camp dogs in attendance, the nimble grey- 

 hound, the age-stiffened and sedate spaniel, the 

 saucy, ill-bred bull-terrier, and the nai've baby 

 pug. The loitering walk usually ended at the 

 red farmhouse a mile away, and the walkers 

 returned to the camp in the gloaming, loaded 

 with flowers, saturated with the delicious moun- 

 tain air, and filled with a peace that passeth 

 words. 



Up the road led into the mountain, under 

 thick-crowding trees, between frowning rocks, 

 ever growing higher and drawing nearer to- 

 gether, till the carriage road became a burro 

 track, and then a footpath ; now this side the 

 boisterous brook, then crossing by a log or two 

 to the other side, and ending in the heart of 

 Cheyenne in a cul-de-sac, whose high perpendic- 

 ular sides could be scaled only by flights of 

 steps built against the rocks. From high up the 

 mountain, into this immense rocky basin, came 



