THE ANIMAS 119 
For miles on either side, north and south, ridge upon 
rolling ridge shot out from the main range, con- 
stantly decreasing in height as they extended east- 
ward. Between them were the canyons, which, be- 
ginning at the top in shallow draws, steep and 
boulder strewn, etched in by the overflow of snow 
and rain, merged ere long to make larger creeks. 
These in turn, further down, came together in 
ragged, rocky boxes, where sheer cliffs rose dizzily, 
and flowing on through canyons ever wider and 
deeper, formed the main rivers, for each of which 
its respective watershed was named. 
The Animas proper was the chief of these final 
streams. The river bed itself was not visible from 
where we stood, but we could see the high walls of 
the canyon through which the stream flowed, and be- 
yond the first confusion of mountains where the 
smaller tributaries came together, the two timber- 
covered ridges that outlined its course. Growing 
gradually lower and lower, these ridges flattened at 
length into open grassland, where the canyon seemed 
a mere dark gash in the soft green of the mesa. 
For many minutes we stood silent, rapt in the 
grandeur of the scene. No wonder the Spaniards 
picturesquely called the place Las Animas—the 
Canyon of the Spirits. Its weird majesty seemed to 
fit the name; it looked a true abode for wandering 
souls or for disembodied beings. 
Bert’s matter of fact utterance at last broke the 
spell. 
