118 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
bacon, beans, potatoes, coffee, hot biscuits and 
“‘lick.’? Our spirits, under this stimulus, rose 
rapidly to normal. Afterward everybody helped 
pack, and we were under way by nine o’clock. 
It was nearly a mile from camp to the main di- 
vide, a gradual slope ending in an abrupt ascent by 
a zigzag trail. The nervy little burros, urged on by 
the yells of the entire outfit, made the climb cleverly. 
The saddle crossed was narrow and steep. As we 
neared the top we saw the burros ahead worm slowly 
upward, stand out for an instant one by one against 
the skyline, then quickly disappear. And one by 
one the rest of us, following in single file, reached 
the summit and stopped. 
I shall never forget that first sight of the Animas! 
‘We were on a bare and rocky ridge. No timber 
grew near to impéde the vision. For weeks we had 
been picturing to ourselves this scene, but now, as 
we looked down over the maze of pinnacles, bluffs, 
‘rim-rock and boxes, the welter of formidable ridges 
and sharply cut canyons, we knew that nothing of 
our imagining approached this terrific fact in point 
of wildness or magnificence. 
The whole great watershed lay open to our eyes. 
Timber grew thick and tall in the canyons, more 
sparsely on the ridges, but the entire rocky skeleton 
beneath was plainly visible in outline. We saw as 
on a map the network of waterways—veins of the 
drainage system—that carried the mountain rain- 
fall and snowfall to the far plains of the Rio Grande. 
