CHAPTER XIII 
IN THE GIANT CACTUS BELT 
URNING southward from the Santa 
Fé trail at Ash Fork, which lies just 
beyond Bill William’s old camp, there is a 
descent of 4500 feet before one reaches the 
little desert station, the point of departure 
by stage or bronco, or even by automobile if 
one has no sense of the fitness of things, for 
the Wickenburg region of Central Arizona, a 
region commending itself because of a pecu- 
liarly forceful personality and as good a 
winter climate as any north of southern 
Mexico. The Wickenburg is a sort of adjunct 
to the loftier Bradshaw range—a great wedge 
of granite—from which it stretches away like 
a turbulent sea turned to stone. Largely of 
lava, its topography is sculptured in all the 
fantastic and delightful forms which ande- 
site cliffs and peaks and basalt mesas afford, 
offset by beautiful ranges of schist, like folded 
velvet. 
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