In the Giant Cactus Belt 187 
hills, with no concern for the poisoned arrow 
which once might have whistled from behind 
some red purple comb of andesite to take the 
white man unaware, like the sting of the 
scorpion. But looking abroad over the lava 
peaks, the wildness and savagery of the 
country is still unredeemed. Long may it be 
so. Long may we be left some wild spot in 
which to solace and recreate ourselves in the 
silence of the desert under the broad blue sky. 
There is much pleasant company in my 
study on the mountains with its columnar 
saguaros—like monoliths of jade,—its queer 
garden of cacti and other thorny plants, its 
splendid blue dome, and its ten thousand 
square miles of lava peaks and desert fading 
into a phantom distance. The Arizona cot- 
tontail scurries away from the trail and the 
jackrabbit comes leaping upon the mountains 
with those marvellous jumps which no other 
animal save the kangaroo can equal. Now 
and again a coyote slinks out of sight on a 
ridge, moving like some noiseless mechanism. 
Panthers and wildcats live among these 
mountains but the former are practically 
invisible. Nearly always the Western redtail 
is to be seen overhead and lately I en- 
countered one rising with a packrat in his 
