The Last of the Plainsmen ..................................................................................................................................1

Zane Grey .................................................................................................................................................1

Buffalo Jones needs no introduction to American sportsmen, but to these of my readers who are unacquainted

He was born sixtytwo years ago on the Illinois prairie, and he has devoted practically all of his life to the

pursuit of wild animals. It has been a pursuit which owed its unflagging energy and indomitable purpose to a

singular passion, almost an obsession, to capture alive, not to kill. He has caught and broken the will of every

wellknown wild beast native to western North America. Killing was repulsive to him. He even disliked the

sight of a sporting rifle, though for years necessity compelled him to earn his livelihood by supplying the

meat of buffalo to the caravans crossing the plains. At last, seeing that the extinction of the noble beasts was

inevitable, he smashed his rifle over a wagon wheel and vowed to save the species. For ten years he labored,

pursuing, capturing and taming buffalo, for which the West gave him fame, and the name Preserver of the

As civilization encroached upon the plains Buffalo Jones ranged slowly westward; and today an isolated

desertbound plateau on the north rim of the Grand Canyon of Arizona is his home. There his buffalo browse

with the mustang and deer, and are as free as ever they were on the rolling plains.

In the spring of 1907 I was the fortunate companion of the old plainsman on a trip across the desert, and a

hunt in that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canyons and giant pines. I want to tell about it. I want to

show the color and beauty of those painted cliffs and the long, brownmatted bluebelldotted aisles in the

grand forests; I want to give a suggestion of the tang of the dry, cool air; and particularly I want to throw a

little light upon the life and nature of that strange character and remarkable man, Buffalo Jones.

Happily in remembrance a writer can live over his experiences, and see once more the moonblanched silver

mountain peaks against the dark blue sky; hear the lonely sough of the night wind through the pines; feel the

dance of wild expectation in the quivering pulse; the stir, the thrill, the joy of hard action in perilous

As a boy I read of Boone with a throbbing heart, and the silent moccasined, vengeful Wetzel I loved.

I pored over the deeds of later menCuster and Carson, those heroes of the plains. And as a man I came to

see the wonder, the tragedy of their lives, and to write about them. It has been my destinywhat a happy

fulfillment of my dreams of border spirit!to live for a while in the fastfading wild environment which

One afternoon, far out on the sunbaked waste of sage, we made camp near a clump of withered pinyon trees.

The cold desert wind came down upon us with the sudden darkness. Even the Mormons, who were finding

the trail for us across the drifting sands, forgot to sing and pray at sundown. We huddled round the campfire,

a tired and silent little group. When out of the lonely, melancholy night some wandering Navajos stole like

shadows to our fire, we hailed their advent with delight. They were goodnatured Indians, willing to barter a

blanket or bracelet; and one of them, a tall, gaunt fellow, with the bearing of a chief, could speak a little

"Big palefaceBuffalo Jonesbig chiefbuffalo man," introduced Emmett, indicating Jones.

"Jones big white chiefrope buffalotie up tight," continued Emmett, making motions with his arm, as if

"No bigheap small buffalo," said the Indian, holding his hand level with his knee, and smiling broadly.

Jones, erect, rugged, brawny, stood in the full light of the campfire. He had a dark, bronzed, inscrutable face;

a stern mouth and square jaw, keen eyes, halfclosed from years of searching the wide plains; and deep

furrows wrinkling his cheeks. A strange stillness enfolded his feature the tranquility earned from a long life

"Me big chief," went on Jones, "me go far northLand of Little SticksNaza! Naza! rope muskox; rope

The cougar, or mountain lion, is a Navajo god and the Navajos hold him in as much fear and reverence as do

"No kill cougar," continued Jones, as the Indian's bold features hardened. "Run cougar horsebackrun long

waydogs chase cougar long timechase cougar up tree! Me big chiefme climb treeclimb high

"Yes," cried Jones, extending his great arms. "Me strong; me rope cougarme tie cougar; ride off wigwam,

Jones joined goodnaturedly in the laugh at his expense. The Indian had crudely voiced a skepticism I had

heard more delicately hinted in New York, and singularly enough, which had strengthened on our way West,

as we met ranchers, prospectors and cowboys. But those few men I had fortunately met, who really knew

Jones, more than overbalanced the doubt and ridicule cast upon him. I recalled a scarred old veteran of the

"Say, young feller, I heerd yer couldn't git acrost the Canyon fer the deep snow on the north rim. Wal, ye're

lucky. Now, yer hit the trail fer New York, an' keep goint! Don't ever tackle the desert, 'specially with them

Mormons. They've got water on the brain, wusser 'n religion. It's two hundred an' fifty miles from Flagstaff to

Jones range, an' only two drinks on the trail. I know this hyar Buffalo Jones. I knowed him way back in the

seventies, when he was doin' them ropin' stunts thet made him famous as the preserver of the American bison.

I know about that crazy trip of his'n to the Barren Lands, after muskox. An' I reckon I kin guess what he'll

do over there in the Siwash. He'll rope cougarssure he willan' watch 'em jump. Jones would rope the

devil, an' tie him down if the lasso didn't burn. Oh! he's hell on ropin' things. An' he's wusser 'n hell on men,

All that my wellmeaning friend suggested made me, of course, only the more eager to go with Jones. Where

I had once been interested in the old buffalo hunter, I was now fascinated. And now I was with him in the

desert and seeing him as he was, a simple, quiet man, who fitted the mountains and the silences, and the long

"It does seem hard to believeall this about Jones," remarked Judd, one of Emmett's men.

"How could a man have the strength and the nerve? And isn't it cruel to keep wild animals in captivity? it

Quick as speech could flow, Jones quoted: "And God said, 'Let us make man in our image, and give him

dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowls of the air, over all the cattle, and over every creeping thing that

"Dominionover all the beasts of the field!" repeated Jones, his big voice rolling out. He clenched his huge

fists, and spread wide his long arms. "Dominion! That was God's word!" The power and intensity of him

could be felt. Then he relaxed, dropped his arms, and once more grew calm. But he had shown a glimpse of

the great, strange and absorbing passion of his life. Once he had told me how, when a mere child, he had

hazarded limb and neck to capture a fox squirrel, how he had held on to the vicious little animal, though it bit

his hand through; how he had never learned to play the games of boyhood; that when the youths of the little

Illinois village were at play, he roamed the prairies, or the rolling, wooded hills, or watched a gopher hole.

That boy was father of the man: for sixty years an enduring passion for dominion over wild animals had

Our guests, the Navajos, departed early, and vanished silently in the gloom of the desert. We settled down

again into a quiet that was broken only by the low chantlike song of a praying Mormon. Suddenly the

hounds bristled, and old Moze, a surly and aggressive dog, rose and barked at some real or imaginary desert

prowler. A sharp command from Jones made Moze crouch down, and the other hounds cowered close

"Better tie up the dogs," suggested Jones. "Like as not coyotes run down here from the hills."

The hounds were my especial delight. But Jones regarded them with considerable contempt. When all was

said, this was no small wonder, for that quintet of longeared canines would have tried the patience of a saint.

Old Moze was a Missouri hound that Jones had procured in that State of uncertain qualities; and the dog had

grown old over coontrails. He was black and white, grizzled and battlescarred; and if ever a dog had an evil

eye, Moze was that dog. He had a way of wagging his tailan indeterminate, equivocal sort of wag, as if he

realized his ugliness and knew he stood little chance of making friends, but was still hopeful and willing. As

for me, the first time he manifested this evidence of a good heart under a rough coat, he won me forever.

To tell of Moze's derelictions up to that time would take more space than would a history of the whole trip;

but the enumeration of several incidents will at once stamp him as a dog of character, and will establish the

fact that even if his progenitors had never taken any blue ribbons, they had at least bequeathed him fighting

blood. At Flagstaff we chained him in the yard of a livery stable. Next morning we found him hanging by his

chain on the other side of an eightfoot fence. We took him down, expecting to have the sorrowful duty of

burying him; but Moze shook himself, wagged his tail and then pitched into the livery stable dog. As a matter

of fact, fighting was his forte. He whipped all of the dogs in Flagstaff; and when our blood hounds came on

from California, he put three of them hors de combat at once, and subdued the pup with a savage growl. His

crowning feat, however, made even the stoical Jones open his mouth in amaze. We had taken Moze to the El

Tovar at the Grand Canyon, and finding it impossible to get over to the north rim, we left him with one of

Jones's men, called Rust, who was working on the Canyon trail. Rust's instructions were to bring Moze to

Flagstaff in two weeks. He brought the dog a little ahead time, and roared his appreciation of the relief it to

get the responsibility off his hands. And he related many strange things. most striking of which was how

Moze had broken his chain and plunged into the raging Colorado River, and tried to swim it just above the

terrible Sockdolager Rapids. Rust and his fellowworkmen watched the dog disappear in the yellow,

wrestling, turbulent whirl of waters, and had heard his knell in the booming roar of the falls. Nothing but a

fish could live in that current; nothing but a bird could scale those perpendicular marble walls. That night,

however, when the men crossed on the tramway, Moze met them with a wag of his tail. He had crossed the

To the four reddishbrown, highframed bloodhounds I had given the names of Don, Tige, Jude and Ranger;

and by dint of persuasion, had succeeded in establishing some kind of family relation between them and

Moze. This night I tied up the bloodhounds, after bathing and salving their sore feet; and I left Moze free, for

The Mormons, prone, dark, blanketed figures, lay on the sand. Jones was crawling into his bed. I walked a

little way from the dying fire, and faced the north, where the desert stretched, mysterious and illimitable.

How solemn and still it was! I drew in a great breath of the cold air, and thrilled with a nameless sensation.

Something was there, away to the northward; it called to me from out of the dark and gloom; I was going to

I lay down to sleep with the great blue expanse open to my eyes. The stars were very large, and wonderfully

bright, yet they seemed so much farther off than I had ever seen them. The wind softly sifted the sand. I

hearkened to the tinkle of the cowbells on the hobbled horses. The last thing I remembered was old Moze

When I awakened, a long, pale line showed out of the duncolored clouds in the east. It slowly lengthened,

and tinged to red. Then the morning broke, and the slopes of snow on the San Francisco peaks behind us

glowed a delicate pink. The Mormons were up and doing with the dawn. They were stalwart men, rather

silent, and all workers. It was interesting to see them pack for the day's journey. They traveled with wagons

and mules, in the most primitive way, which Jones assured me was exactly as their fathers had crossed the

All morning we made good time, and as we descended into the desert, the air became warmer, the scrubby

cedar growth began to fail, and the bunches of sage were few and far between. I turned often to gaze back at

the San Francisco peaks. The snowcapped tips glistened and grew higher, and stood out in startling relief.

Some one said they could be seen two hundred miles across the desert, and were a landmark and a fascination

I never raised my eyes to the north that I did not draw my breath quickly and grow chill with awe and

bewilderment with the marvel of the desert. The scaly red ground descended gradually; bare red knolls, like

waves, rolled away northward; black buttes reared their flat heads; long ranges of sand flowed between them

like streams, and all sloped away to merge into gray, shadowy obscurity, into wild and desolate, dreamy and

"Do you see those white sand dunes there, more to the left?" asked Emmett. "The Little Colorado runs in

"It's seventyfive. We'll get there day after tomorrow. If the snow in the mountains has begun to melt, we'll

That afternoon, a hot wind blew in my face, carrying fine sand that cut and blinded. It filled my throat,

sending me to the water cask till I was ashamed. When I fell into my bed at night, I never turned. The next

About noon the following day, the horses whinnied, and the mules roused out of their tardy gait. "They smell

water," said Emmett. And despite the heat, and the sand in my nostrils, I smelled it, too. The dogs, poor

footsore fellows, trotted on ahead down the trail. A few more miles of hot sand and gravel and red stone

It was a wide stream of swiftly running, reddishmuddy water. In the channel, cut by floods, little streams

trickled and meandered in all directions. The main part of the river ran in close to the bank we were on. The

dogs lolled in the water; the horses and mules tried to run in, but were restrained; the men drank, and bathed

their faces. According to my Flagstaff adviser, this was one of the two drinks I would get on the desert, so I

availed myself heartily of the opportunity. The water was full of sand, but cold and gratefully

The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than a shallow creek; I heard nothing sullen or menacing in its

"Doesn't look bad, eh?" queried Emmett, who read my thought. "You'd be surprised to learn how many men

The secret was out, and I wondered no more. At once the stream and wet bars of sand took on a different

color. I removed my boots, and waded out to a little bar. The sand seemed quite firm, but water oozed out

around my feet; and when I stepped, the whole bar shook like jelly. I pushed my foot through the crust, and

"We must take our chances," replied he. "We'll hitch two teams to one wagon, and run the horses. I've forded

here at worse stages than this. Once a team got stuck, and I had to leave it; another time the water was high,

Emmett sent his son into the stream on a mule. The rider lashed his mount, and plunging, splashing, crossed

at a pace near a gallop. He returned in the same manner, and reported one bad place near the other side.

Jones and I got on the first wagon and tried to coax up the dogs, but they would not come. Emmett had to

lash the four horses to start them; and other Mormons riding alongside, yelled at them, and used their whips.

The wagon bowled into the water with a tremendous splash. We were wet through before we had gone twenty

feet. The plunging horses were lost in yellow spray; the stream rushed through the wheels; the Mormons

yelled. I wanted to see, but was lost in a veil of yellow mist. Jones yelled in my ear, but I could not hear what

he said. Once the wagon wheels struck a stone or log, almost lurching us overboard. A muddy splash blinded

me. I cried out in my excitement, and punched Jones in the back. Next moment, the keen exhilaration of the

ride gave way to horror. We seemed to drag, and almost stop. Some one roared: "Horse down!" One instant

of painful suspense, in which imagination pictured another tragedy added to the record of this deceitful

rivera moment filled with intense feeling, and sensation of splash, and yell, and fury of action; then the

three able horses dragged their comrade out of the quicksand. He regained his feet, and plunged on. Spurred

by fear, the horses increased their efforts, and amid clouds of spray, galloped the remaining distance to the

Jones looked disgusted. Like all plainsmen, he hated water. Emmett and his men calmly unhitched. No trace

So I sat down and wondered what Jones and Emmett, and these men would consider really hazardous. I

began to have a feeling that I would find out; that experience for me was but in its infancy; that far across the

desert the something which had called me would show hard, keen, perilous life. And I began to think of

The other wagons were brought across without mishap; but the dogs did not come with them. Jones called

and called. The dogs howled and howled. Finally I waded out over the wet bars and little streams to a point

several hundred yards nearer the dogs. Moze was lying down, but the others were whining and howling in a

state of great perturbation. I called and called. They answered, and even ran into the water, but did not start

"Hyah, Moze! hyah, you Indian!" I yelled, losing my patience. "You've already swum the Big Colorado, and

This appeal evidently touched Moze, for he barked, and plunged in. He made the water fly, and when carried

off his feet, breasted the current with energy and power. He made shore almost even with me, and wagged his

tail. Not to be outdone, Jude, Tige and Don followed suit, and first one and then another was swept off his

feet and carried downstream. They landed below me. This left Ranger, the pup, alone on the other shore. Of

all the pitiful yelps ever uttered by a frightened and lonely puppy, his were the most forlorn I had ever heard.

Time after time he plunged in, and with many bitter howls of distress, went back. I kept calling, and at last,

hoping to make him come by a show of indifference, I started away. This broke his heart. Putting up his head,

he let out a long, melancholy wail, which for aught I knew might have been a prayer, and then consigned

himself to the yellow current. Ranger swam like a boy learning. He seemed to be afraid to get wet. His

forefeet were continually pawing the air in front of his nose. When he struck the swift place, he went

downstream like a flash, but still kept swimming valiantly. I tried to follow along the sandbar, but found it

impossible. I encouraged him by yelling. He drifted far below, stranded on an island, crossed it, and plunged

in again, to make shore almost out of my sight. And when at last I got to dry sand, there was Ranger, wet and

After lunch we entered upon the seventymile stretch from the Little to the Big Colorado.

Imagination had pictured the desert for me as a vast, sandy plain, flat and monotonous. Reality showed me

desolate mountains gleaming bare in the sun, long lines of red bluffs, white sand dunes, and hills of blue clay,

areas of level groundin all, a manyhued, boundless world in itself, wonderful and beautiful, fading all

Thin, clear, sweet, dry, the desert air carried a languor, a dreaminess, tidings of faroff things, and an

enthralling promise. The fragrance of flowers, the beauty and grace of women, the sweetness of music, the

mystery of lifeall seemed to float on that promise. It was the air breathed by the lotuseaters, when they

Beyond the Little Colorado, we began to climb again. The sand was thick; the horses labored; the drivers

shielded their faces. The dogs began to limp and lag. Ranger had to be taken into a wagon; and then, one by

one, all of the other dogs except Moze. He refused to ride, and trotted along with his head down.

Far to the front the pink cliffs, the ragged mesas, the dark, volcanic spurs of the Big Colorado stood up and

beckoned us onward. But they were a far hundred miles across the shifting sands, and baked day, and ragged

rocks. Always in the rear rose the San Francisco peaks, cold and pure, startlingly clear and close in the rare

We camped near another water hole, located in a deep, yellowcolored gorge, crumbling to pieces, a ruin of

rock, and silent as the grave. In the bottom of the canyon was a pool of water, covered with green scum. My

thirst was effectually quenched by the mere sight of it. I slept poorly, and lay for hours watching the great

stars. The silence was painfully oppressive. If Jones had not begun to give a respectable imitation of the

exhaust pipe on a steamboat, I should have been compelled to shout aloud, or get up; but this snoring would

have dispelled anything. The morning came gray and cheerless. I got up stiff and sore, with a tongue like a

All day long we ran the gauntlet of the hot, flying sand. Night came again, a cold, windy night. I slept well

until a mule stepped on my bed, which was conducive to restlessness. At dawn, cold, gray clouds tried to blot

out the rosy east. I could hardly get up. My lips were cracked; my tongue swollen to twice its natural size; my

eyes smarted and burned. The barrels and kegs of water were exhausted. Holes that had been dug in the dry

sand of a dry streambed the night before in the morning yielded a scant supply of muddy alkali water, which

Only twice that day did I rouse to anything resembling enthusiasm. We came to a stretch of country showing

the wonderful diversity of the desert land. A long range of beautifully rounded clay stones bordered the trail.

So symmetrical were they that I imagined them works of sculptors. Light blue, dark blue, clay blue, marine

blue, cobalt blueevery shade of blue was there, but no other color. The other time that I awoke to

sensations from without was when we came to the top of a ridge. We had been passing through redlands.

Jones called the place a strong, specific word which really was illustrative of the heat amid those scaling red

ridges. We came out where the red changed abruptly to gray. I seemed always to see things first, and I cried

"No, lad, not a lake," said old Jim, smiling at me; "that's what haunts the desert traveler. It's only mirage!"

So I awoke to the realization of that illusive thing, the mirage, a beautiful lie, false as stairs of sand. Far

northward a clear rippling lake sparkled in the sunshine. Tall, stately trees, with waving green foliage,

bordered the water. For a long moment it lay there, smiling in the sun, a thing almost tangible; and then it

faded. I felt a sense of actual loss. So real had been the illusion that I could not believe I was not soon to

drink and wade and dabble in the cool waters. Disappointment was keen. This is what maddens the

prospector or sheepherder lost in the desert. Was it not a terrible thing to be dying of thirst, to see sparkling

water, almost to smell it and then realize suddenly that all was only a lying track of the desert, a lure, a

delusion? I ceased to wonder at the Mormons, and their search for water, their talk of water. But I had not

realized its true significance. I had not known what water was. I had never appreciated it. So it was my

destiny to learn that water is the greatest thing on earth. I hung over a threefoot hole in a dry streambed,

and watched it ooze and seep through the sand, and fill upoh, so slowly; and I felt it loosen my parched

tongue, and steal through all my dry body with strength and life. Water is said to constitute three fourths of

the universe. However that may be, on the desert it is the whole world, and all of life.

Two days passed by, all hot sand and wind and glare. The Mormons sang no more at evening; Jones was

At Moncaupie Wash we ran into a sandstorm. The horses turned their backs to it, and bowed their heads

patiently. The Mormons covered themselves. I wrapped a blanket round my head and hid behind a sage bush.

The wind, carrying the sand, made a strange hollow roar. All was enveloped in a weird yellow opacity. The

sand seeped through the sage bush and swept by with a soft, rustling sound, not unlike the wind in the rye.

From time to time I raised a corner of my blanket and peeped out. Where my feet had stretched was an

enormous mound of sand. I felt the blanket, weighted down, slowly settle over me.

Suddenly as it had come, the sandstorm passed. It left a changed world for us. The trail was covered; the

wheels hubdeep in sand; the horses, walking sand dunes. I could not close my teeth without grating harshly

We journeyed onward, and passed long lines of petrified trees, some a hundred feet in length, lying as they

had fallen, thousands of years before. White ants crawled among the ruins. Slowly climbing the sandy trail,

we circled a great red bluff with jagged peaks, that had seemed an interminable obstacle. A scant growth of

cedar and sage again made its appearance. Here we halted to pass another night. Under a cedar I heard the

plaintive, piteous bleat of an animal. I searched, and presently found a little black and white lamb, scarcely

"That's a Navajo lamb," said Emmett. "It's lost. There are Navajo Indians close by."

Jones and I climbed the red mesa near camp to see the sunset. All the western world was ablaze in golden

glory. Shafts of light shot toward the zenith, and bands of paler gold, tinging to rose, circled away from the

fiery, sinking globe. Suddenly the sun sank, the gold changed to gray, then to purple, and shadows formed in

the deep gorge at our feet. So sudden was the transformation that soon it was night, the solemn, impressive

night of the desert. A stillness that seemed too sacred to break clasped the place; it was infinite; it held the

More days, and miles, miles, miles! The last day's ride to the Big Colorado was unforgettable. We rode

toward the head of a gigantic red cliff pocket, a veritable inferno, immeasurably hot, glaring, awful. It

towered higher and higher above us. When we reached a point of this red barrier, we heard the dull rumbling

roar of water, and we came out, at length, on a winding trail cut in the face of a blue overhanging the

Colorado River. The first sight of most famous and muchheralded wonders of nature is often disappointing;

but never can this be said of the bloodhued Rio Colorado. If it had beauty, it was beauty that appalled. So

riveted was my gaze that I could hardly turn it across the river, where Emmett proudly pointed out his lonely

homean oasis set down amidst beetling red cliffs. How grateful to the eye was the green of alfalfa and

cottonwood! Going round the bluff trail, the wheels had only a foot of room to spare; and the sheer descent

I saw the constricted rapids, where the Colorado took its plunge into the boxlike head of the Grand Canyon

of Arizona; and the deep, reverberating boom of the river, at flood height, was a fearful thing to hear. I could

The bronze walls widened as we proceeded, and we got down presently to a level, where a long wire cable

stretched across the river. Under the cable ran a rope. On the other side was an old scow moored to the bank.

I felt that I would rather start back alone over the desert than trust myself in such a craft, on such a river. And

it was all because I had had experience with bad rivers, and thought I was a judge of dangerous currents. The

Colorado slid with a menacing roar out of a giant split in the red wall, and whirled, eddied, bulged on toward

In answer to shots fired, Emmett's man appeared on the other side, and rode down to the ferry landing. Here

he got into a skiff, and rowed laboriously upstream for a long distance before he started across, and then

swung into the current. He swept down rapidly, and twice the skiff whirled, and completely turned round; but

he reached our bank safely. Taking two men aboard he rowed upstream again, close to the shore, and returned

The three men pushed out the scow, and grasping the rope overhead, began to pull. The big craft ran easily.

When the current struck it, the wire cable sagged, the water boiled and surged under it, raising one end, and

then the other. Nevertheless, five minutes were all that were required to pull the boat over.

It was a rude, oblong affair, made of heavy planks loosely put together, and it leaked. When Jones suggested

that we get the agony over as quickly as possible, I was with him, and we embarked together. Jones said he

did not like the looks of the tackle; and when I thought of his by no means small mechanical skill, I had not

added a cheerful idea to my consciousness. The horses of the first team had to be dragged upon the scow, and

When we started, four men pulled the rope, and Emmett sat in the stern, with the tackle guys in hand. As the

current hit us, he let out the guys, which maneuver caused the boat to swing stern downstream. When it

pointed obliquely, he made fast the guys again. I saw that this served two purposes: the current struck, slid

alongside, and over the stern, which mitigated the danger, and at the same time helped the boat across.

To look at the river was to court terror, but I had to look. It was an infernal thing. It roared in hollow, sullen

voice, as a monster growling. It had voice, this river, and one strangely changeful. It moaned as if in painit

whined, it cried. Then at times it would seem strangely silent. The current as complex and mutable as human

life. It boiled, beat and bulged. The bulge itself was an incompressible thing, like a roaring lift of the waters

from submarine explosion. Then it would smooth out, and run like oil. It shifted from one channel to another,

rushed to the center of the river, then swung close to one shore or the other. Again it swelled near the boat, in

I looked upstream to see the stupendous granite walls separated in a gigantic split that must have been made

by a terrible seismic disturbance; and from this gap poured the dark, turgid, mystic flood.

I was in a cold sweat when we touched shore, and I jumped long before the boat was properly moored.

Emmett was wet to the waist where the water had surged over him. As he sat rearranging some tackle I

remarked to him that of course he must be a splendid swimmer, or he would not take such risks.

"No, I can't swim a stroke," he replied; "and it wouldn't be any use if I could. Once in there a man's a goner."

"No, not bad. We only drowned two men last year. You see, we had to tow the boat up the river, and row

across, as then we hadn't the wire. Just above, on this side, the boat hit a stone, and the current washed over

"Isn't the river high now?" I continued, shuddering as I glanced out at the whirling logs and drifts.

"High, and coming up. If I don't get the other teams over today I'll wait until she goes down. At this season

she rises and lowers every day or so, until June then comes the big flood, and we don't cross for months."

I sat for three hours watching Emmett bring over the rest of his party, which he did without accident, but at

the expense of great effort. And all the time in my ears dinned the roar, the boom, the rumble of this

singularly rapacious and purposeful rivera river of silt, a red river of dark, sinister meaning, a river with

After a muchneeded rest at Emmett's, we bade goodby to him and his hospitable family, and under the

guidance of his man once more took to the windswept trail. We pursued a southwesterly course now,

following the lead of the craggy red wall that stretched on and on for hundreds of miles into Utah. The desert,

smoky and hot, fell away to the left, and in the foreground a dark, irregular line marked the Grand Canyon

The wind whipped in from the vast, open expanse, and meeting an obstacle in the red wall, turned north and

raced past us. Jones's hat blew off, stood on its rim, and rolled. It kept on rolling, thirty miles an hour, more

or less; so fast, at least, that we were a long time catching up to it with a team of horses. Possibly we never

would have caught it had not a stone checked its flight. Further manifestation of the power of the desert wind

surrounded us on all sides. It had hollowed out huge stones from the cliffs, and tumbled them to the plain

below; and then, sweeping sand and gravel low across the desert floor, had cut them deeply, until they rested

on slender pedestals, thus sculptoring grotesque and striking monuments to the marvelous persistence of this

Late that afternoon, as we reached the height of the plateau, Jones woke up and shouted: "Ha! there's

Far southward lay a long, black mountain, covered with patches of shining snow. I could follow the zigzag

line of the Grand Canyon splitting the desert plateau, and saw it disappear in the haze round the end of the

mountain. From this I got my first clear impression of the topography of the country surrounding our

objective point. Buckskin mountain ran its blunt end eastward to the Canyonin fact, formed a hundred

miles of the north rim. As it was nine thousand feet high it still held the snow, which had occasioned our

lengthy desert ride to get back of the mountain. I could see the long slopes rising out of the desert to meet the

As we bowled merrily down grade I noticed that we were no longer on stony ground, and that a little scant

silvery grass had made its appearance. Then little branches of green, with a blue flower, smiled out of the

All of a sudden Jones stood up, and let out a wild Comanche yell. I was more startled by the yell than by the

Below us, a few miles on a rising knoll, a big herd of buffalo shone black in the gold of the evening sun. I had

not Jones's incentive, but I felt enthusiasm born of the wild and beautiful picture, and added my yell to his.

The huge, burly leader of the herd lifted his head, and after regarding us for a few moments calmly went on

The desert had fringed away into a grand rolling pastureland, walled in by the red cliffs, the slopes of

Buckskin, and further isolated by the Canyon. Here was a range of twentyfour hundred square miles without

a foot of barbwire, a pasture fenced in by natural forces, with the splendid feature that the buffalo could

browse on the plain in winter, and go up into the cool foothills of Buckskin in summer.

From another ridge we saw a cabin dotting the rolling plain, and in half an hour we reached it. As we climbed

down from the wagon a brown and black dog came dashing out of the cabin, and promptly jumped at Moze.

His selection showed poor discrimination, for Moze whipped him before I could separate them. Hearing

Jones heartily greeting some one, I turned in his direction, only to he distracted by another dog fight. Don had

tackled Moze for the seventh time. Memory rankled in Don, and he needed a lot of whipping, some of which

Next moment I was shaking hands with Frank and Jim, Jones's ranchmen. At a glance I liked them both.

Frank was short and wiry, and had a big, ferocious mustache, the effect of which was softened by his kindly

brown eyes. Jim was tall, a little heavier; he had a careless, tidy look; his eyes were searching, and though he

"Get down, get down," was Frank's welcomea typically Western one, for we had already gotten down; "an'

come in. You must be worked out. Sure you've come a long way." He was quick of speech, full of nervous

The cabin was the rudest kind of log affair, with a huge stone fireplace in one end, deer antlers and coyote

skins on the wall, saddles and cowboys' traps in a corner, a nice, large, promising cupboard, and a table and

chairs. Jim threw wood on a smoldering fire, that soon blazed and crackled cheerily.

I sank down into a chair with a feeling of blessed relief. Ten days of desert ride behind me! Promise of

wonderful days before me, with the last of the old plainsmen. No wonder a sweet sense of ease stole over me,

or that the fire seemed a live and joyously welcoming thing, or that Jim's deft maneuvers in preparation of

"Twenty calves this spring!" cried Jones, punching me in my sore side. "Ten thousand dollars worth of

He was now altogether a changed man; he looked almost young; his eyes danced, and he rubbed his big

hands together while he plied Frank with questions. In strange surroundingsthat is, away from his Native

Wilds, Jones had been a silent man; it had been almost impossible to get anything out of him. But now I saw

that I should come to know the real man. In a very few moments he had talked more than on all the desert

trip, and what he said, added to the little I had already learned, put me in possession of some interesting

Some years before he had conceived the idea of hybridizing buffalo with black Galloway cattle; and with the

characteristic determination and energy of the man, he at once set about finding a suitable range. This was

difficult, and took years of searching. At last the wild north rim of the Grand Canyon, a section unknown

except to a few Indians and mustang hunters, was settled upon. Then the gigantic task of transporting the herd

of buffalo by rail from Montana to Salt Lake was begun. The two hundred and ninety miles of desert lying

between the home of the Mormons and Buckskin Mountain was an obstacle almost insurmountable. The

journey was undertaken and found even more trying than had been expected. Buffalo after buffalo died on the

way. Then Frank, Jones's righthand man, put into execution a plan he had been thinking ofnamely, to

travel by night. It succeeded. The buffalo rested in the day and traveled by easy stages by night, with the

Here, in an environment strange to their race, but peculiarly adaptable, they thrived and multiplied. The

hybrid of the Galloway cow and buffalo proved a great success. Jones called the new species "Cattalo." The

cattalo took the hardiness of the buffalo, and never required artificial food or shelter. He would face the

desert storm or blizzard and stand stock still in his tracks until the weather cleared. He became quite

domestic, could be easily handled, and grew exceedingly fat on very little provender. The folds of his

stomach were so numerous that they digested even the hardest and flintiest of corn. He had fourteen ribs on

each side, while domestic cattle had only thirteen; thus he could endure rougher work and longer journeys to

water. His fur was so dense and glossy that it equaled that of the unplucked beaver or otter, and was fully as

valuable as the buffalo robe. And not to be overlooked by any means was the fact that his meat was delicious.

Jones had to hear every detail of all that had happened since his absence in the East, and he was particularly

inquisitive to learn all about the twenty cattalo calves. He called different buffalo by name; and designated

the calves by descriptive terms, such as "Whiteface" and "Crosspatch." He almost forgot to eat, and kept

"We expected to meet him at Grand Canyon Station, and then at Flagstaff. But he didn't show up. Either he

backed out or missed us. I'm sorry; for when we get up on Buckskin, among the wild horses and cougars,

"I reckon you'll need me, as well as Jim," said Frank dryly, with a twinkle in his eye. "The buffs are in good

"Plenty. I've got two spotted near Clark Spring. Comin' over two weeks ago I tracked them in the snow along

the trail for miles. We'll ooze over that way, as it's goin' toward the Siwash. The Siwash breaks of the

Canyonthere's the place for lions. I met a wildhorse wrangler not long back, an' he was tellin' me about

"He's the biggest cougar ever known of in these parts. His tracks are bigger than a horse's, an' have been seen

on Buckskin for twelve years. This wranglerhis name is Clarksaid he'd turned his saddle horse out to

graze near camp, an' Old Tom sneaked in an' downed him. The lions over there are sure a bold bunch. Well,

why shouldn't they be? No one ever hunted them. You see, the mountain is hard to get at. But now you're

here, if it's big cats you want we sure can find them. Only be easy, be easy. You've all the time there is. An'

any job on Buckskin will take time. We'll look the calves over, an' you must ride the range to harden up. Then

we'll ooze over toward Oak. I expect it'll be boggy, an' I hope the snow melts soon."

"The snow hadn't melted on Greenland point," replied Jones. "We saw that with a glass from the El Tovar.

We wanted to cross that way, but Rust said Bright Angel Creek was breast high to a horse, and that creek is

"There's four feet of snow on Greenland," said Frank. "It was too early to come that way. There's only about

"I want to get in the snow," returned Jones. "This bunch of longeared canines I brought never smelled a lion

track. Hounds can't be trained quick without snow. You've got to see what they're trailing, or you can't break

Frank looked dubious. "'Pears to me we'll have trouble gettin' a lion without lion dogs. It takes a long time to

break a hound off of deer, once he's chased them. Buckskin is full of deer, wolves, coyotes, and there's the

"How's the hound you and Jim fetched in las' year? Has he got a good nose? Here he isI like his head.

"Jim named him Sounder, because he sure has a voice. It's great to hear him on a trail. Sounder has a nose

that can't be fooled, an' he'll trail anythin'; but I don't know if he ever got up a lion."

Sounder wagged his bushy tail and looked up affectionately at Frank. He had a fine head, great brown eyes,

very long ears and curly brownishblack hair. He was not demonstrative, looked rather askance at Jones, and

"That dog will make a great lionchaser," said Jones, decisively, after his study of Sounder. "He and Moze

"I don't believe any dogtrainer could teach them short of six months," replied Frank. "Sounder is no spring

chicken; an' that black and dirty white cross between a cayuse an' a barbwire fence is an old dog. You can't

"We'll shore hev a storm tomorrow," said Jim, relinquishing his pipe long enough to speak. He had been

silent, and now his meditative gaze was on the west, through the cabin window, where a dull afterglow faded

I was very tired when I lay down, but so full of excitement that sleep did not soon visit my eyelids. The talk

about buffalo, wildhorse hunters, lions and dogs, the prospect of hard riding and unusual adventure; the

vision of Old Tom that had already begun to haunt me, filled my mind with pictures and fancies. The other

fellows dropped off to sleep, and quiet reigned. Suddenly a succession of queer, sharp barks came from the

plain, close to the cabin. Coyotes were paying us a call, and judging from the chorus of yelps and howls from

our dogs, it was not a welcome visit. Above the medley rose one big, deep, full voice that I knew at once

belonged to Sounder. Then all was quiet again. Sleep gradually benumbed my senses. Vague phrases

dreamily drifted to and fro in my mind: "Jones's wild rangeOld TomSoundergreat namegreat

Next morning I could hardly crawl out of my sleepingbag. My bones ached, my muscles protested

excruciatingly, my lips burned and bled, and the cold I had contracted on the desert clung to me. A good brisk

My answer was not given from an overwhelming desire to be truthful. Frank frowned a little, as it wondering

how a man could have the nerve to start out on a jaunt with Buffalo Jones without being a good horseman. To

be unable to stick on the back of a wild mustang, or a cayuse, was an unpardonable sin in Arizona. My frank

admission was made relatively, with my mind on what cowboys held as a standard of horsemanship.

The mount Frank trotted out of the corral for me was a pure white, beautiful mustang, nervous, sensitive,

quivering. I watched Frank put on the saddle, and when he called me I did not fail to catch a covert twinkle in

his merry brown eyes. Looking away toward Buckskin Mountain, which was coincidentally in the direction

of home, I said to myself: "This may be where you get on, but most certainly it is where you get off!"

Jones was already riding far beyond the corral, as I could see by a cloud of dust; and I set off after him, with

the painful consciousness that I must have looked to Frank and Jim much as Central Park equestrians had

often looked to me. Frank shouted after me that he would catch up with us out on the range. I was not in any

great hurry to overtake Jones, but evidently my horse's inclinations differed from mine; at any rate, he made

Jones, who had tarried to inspect one of the poolsformed of running water from the corralsgreeted me as

"What in thunder did Frank give you that white nag for? The buffalo hate white horsesanything white.

I replied grimly that, as it was certain something was going to happen, the particular circumstance might as

We rode over the rolling plain with a cool, bracing breeze in our faces. The sky was dull and mottled with a

beautiful cloud effect that presaged wind. As we trotted along Jones pointed out to me and descanted upon

the nutritive value of three different kinds of grass, one of which he called the Buffalo Pea, noteworthy for a

beautiful blue blossom. Soon we passed out of sight of the cabin, and could see only the billowy plain, the

red tips of the stony wall, and the blackfringed crest of Buckskin. After riding a while we made out some

cattle, a few of which were on the range, browsing in the lee of a ridge. No sooner had I marked them than

A single glance showed me several cows running as if bewildered, and near them a big white wolf pulling

down a calf. Another white wolf stood not far off. My horse jumped as if he had been shot; and the

realization darted upon me that here was where the certain something began. Spotthe mustang had one

black spot in his pure whitesnorted like I imagined a blooded horse might, under dire insult. Jones's bay

had gotten about a hundred paces the start. I lived to learn that Spot hated to be left behind; moreover, he

would not be left behind; he was the swiftest horse on the range, and proud of the distinction. I cast one

unmentionable word on the breeze toward the cabin and Frank, then put mind and muscle to the sore task of

remaining with Spot. Jones was born on a saddle, and had been taking his meals in a saddle for about

sixtythree years, and the bay horse could run. Run is not a felicitous wordhe flew. And I was rendered

mentally deranged for the moment to see that hundred paces between the bay and Spot materially lessen at

every jump. Spot lengthened out, seemed to go down near the ground, and cut the air like a highgeared auto.

If I had not heard the fast rhythmic beat of his hoofs, and had not bounced high into the air at every jump, I

would have been sure I was riding a bird. I tried to stop him. As well might I have tried to pull in the

Lusitania with a thread. Spot was out to overhaul that bay, and in spite of me, he was doing it. The wind

rushed into my face and sang in my ears. Jones seemed the nucleus of a sort of haze, and it grew larger and

larger. Presently he became clearly defined in my sight; the violent commotion under me subsided; I once

more felt the saddle, and then I realized that Spot had been content to stop alongside of Jones, tossing his

"Well, by George! I didn't know you were in the stretch," cried my companion. "That was a fine little brush.

We must have come several miles. I'd have killed those wolves if I'd brought a gun. The big one that had the

calf was a bold brute. He never let go until I was within fifty feet of him. Then I almost rode him down. I

don't think the calf was much hurt. But those bloodthirsty devils will return, and like as not get the calf.

That's the worst of cattle raising. Now, take the buffalo. Do you suppose those wolves could have gotten a

buffalo calf out from under the mother? Never. Neither could a whole band of wolves. Buffalo stick close

together, and the little ones do not stray. When danger threatens, the herd closes in and faces it and fights.

That is what is grand about the buffalo and what made them once roam the prairies in countless, endless

From the highest elevation in that part of the range we viewed the surrounding ridges, flats and hollows,

searching for the buffalo. At length we spied a cloud of dust rising from behind an undulating mound, then

"Frank has rounded up the herd, and is driving it this way. We'll wait," said Jones.

Though the buffalo appeared to be moving fast, a long time elapsed before they reached the foot of our

outlook. They lumbered along in a compact mass, so dense that I could not count them, but I estimated the

number at seventyfive. Frank was riding zigzag behind them, swinging his lariat and yelling. When he

espied us he reined in his horse and waited. Then the herd slowed down, halted and began browsing.

"Look at the cattalo calves," cried Jones, in ecstatic tones. "See how shy they are, how close they stick to

The little darkbrown fellows were plainly frightened. I made several unsuccessful attempts to photograph

them, and gave it up when Jones told me not to ride too close and that it would be better to wait till we had

He took my camera and instructed me to go on ahead, in the rear of the herd. I heard the click of the

instrument as he snapped a picture, and then suddenly heard him shout in alarm: "Look out! look out! pull

Thundering hoofbeats pounding the earth accompanied his words. I saw a big bull, with head down, tail

raised, charging my horse. He answered Frank's yell of command with a furious grunt. I was paralyzed at the

wonderfully swift action of the shaggy brute, and I sat helpless. Spot wheeled as if he were on a pivot and

plunged out of the way with a celerity that was astounding. The buffalo stopped, pawed the ground, and

angrily tossed his huge head. Frank rode up to him, yelled, and struck him with the lariat, whereupon he gave

"It was that darned white nag," said Jones. "Frank, it was wrong to put an inexperienced man on Spot. For

"Spot knows the buffs; they'd never get to him," replied Frank. But the usual spirit was absent from his voice,

and he glanced at me soberly. I knew I had turned white, for I felt the peculiar cold sensation on my face.

He pointed to the herd. They stopped browsing, and were uneasily shifting to and fro. The bull lifted his

"Storm! Sandstorm!" exclaimed Jones, pointing desertward. Dark yellow clouds like smoke were rolling,

sweeping, bearing down upon us. They expanded, blossoming out like gigantic roses, and whirled and

"We've got to run. That storm may last two days," yelled Frank to me. "We've had some bad ones lately. Give

A roar, resembling an approaching storm at sea, came on puffs of wind, as the horses got into their stride.

Long streaks of dust whipped up in different places; the silverwhite grass bent to the ground; round bunches

of sage went rolling before us. The puffs grew longer, steadier, harder. Then a shrieking blast howled on our

trail, seeming to swoop down on us with a yellow, blinding pall. I shut my eyes and covered my face with a

handkerchief. The sand blew so thick that it filled my gloves, pebbles struck me hard enough to sting through

Fortunately, Spot kept to an easy swinging lope, which was the most comfortable motion for me. But I began

to get numb, and could hardly stick on the saddle. Almost before I had dared to hope, Spot stopped.

Uncovering my face, I saw Jim in the doorway of the lee side of the cabin. The yellow, streaky, whistling

clouds of sand split on the cabin and passed on, leaving a small, dusty space of light.

"Shore Spot do hate to be beat," yelled Jim, as he helped me off. I stumbled into the cabin and fell upon a

buffalo robe and lay there absolutely spent. Jones and Frank came in a few minutes apart, each

All day the desert storm raged and roared. The dust sifted through the numerous cracks in the cabin burdened

our clothes, spoiled our food and blinded our eyes. Wind, snow, sleet and rainstorms are discomforting

enough under trying circumstances; but all combined, they are nothing to the choking stinging, blinding

"Shore it'll let up by sundown," averred Jim. And sure enough the roar died away about five o'clock, the wind

Just before supper, a knock sounded heavily o the cabin door. Jim opened it to admit one of Emmett's sons

and a very tall man whom none of us knew. He was a sandman. All that was not sand seemed a space or two

of corduroy, a big bonehandled knife, a prominent square jaw and bronze cheek and flashing eyes.

"Colonel Jones, I've been on your trail for twelve days," announced the stranger, with a grim smile. The sand

streamed off his coat in little white streak. Jones appeared to be casting about in his mind.

"I'm Grant Wallace," continued the newcomer. "I missed you at the El Tovar, at Williams and at Flagstaff,

where I was one day behind. Was half a day late at the Little Colorado, saw your train cross Moncaupie

Wash, and missed you because of the sandstorm there. Saw you from the other side of the Big Colorado as

you rode out from Emmett's along the red wall. And here I am. We've never met till now, which obviously

The Colonel and I fell upon Wallace's neck. Frank manifested his usual alert excitation, and said: "Well, I

guess he won't hang fire on a long cougar chase." And Jimslow, careful Jim, dropped a plate with the

exclamation: "Shore it do beat hell!" The hounds sniffed round Wallace, and welcomed him with vigorous

Supper that night, even if we did grind sand with our teeth, was a joyous occasion. The biscuits were flaky

and light; the bacon fragrant and crisp. I produced a jar of blackberry jam, which by subtle cunning I had

been able to secrete from the Mormons on that dry desert ride, and it was greeted with acclamations of

pleasure. Wallace, divested of his sand guise, beamed with the gratification of a hungry man once more in the

presence of friends and food. He made large cavities in Jim's great pot of potato stew, and caused biscuits to

vanish in a way that would not have shamed a Hindoo magician. The Grand Canyon he dug in my jar of jam,

Talk became animated on dogs, cougars, horses and buffalo. Jones told of our experience out on the range,

"A tame wild animal is the most dangerous of beasts. My old friend, Dick Rock, a great hunter and guide out

of Idaho, laughed at my advice, and got killed by one of his threeyearold bulls. I told him they knew him

just well enough to kill him, and they did. My friend, A. H. Cole, of Oxford, Nebraska, tried to rope a Weetah

that was too tame to be safe, and the bull killed him. Same with General Bull, a member of the Kansas

Legislature, and two cowboys who went into a corral to tie up a tame elk at the wrong time. I pleaded with

them not to undertake it. They had not studied animals as I had. That tame elk killed all of them. He had to be

shot in order to get General Bull off his great antlers. You see, a wild animal must learn to respect a man. The

way I used to teach the Yellowstone Park bears to be respectful and safe neighbors was to rope them around

the front paw, swing them up on a tree clear of the ground, and whip them with a long pole. It was a

dangerous business, and looks cruel, but it is the only way I could find to make the bears good. You see, they

eat scraps around the hotels and get so tame they will steal everything but redhot stoves, and will cuff the

life out of those who try to shoo them off. But after a bear mother has had a licking, she not only becomes a

good bear for the rest of her life, but she tells all her cubs about it with a good smack of her paw, for

emphasis, and teaches them to respect peaceable citizens generation after generation.

"One of the hardest jobs I ever tackled was that of supplying the buffalo for Bronx Park. I rounded up a

magnificent 'king' buffalo bull, belligerent enough to fight a battleship. When I rode after him the cowmen

said I was as good as killed. I made a lance by driving a nail into the end of a short pole and sharpening it.

After he had chased me, I wheeled my broncho, and hurled the lance into his back, ripping a wound as long

as my hand. That put the fear of Providence into him and took the fight all out of him. I drove him uphill and

down, and across canyons at a dead run for eight miles single handed, and loaded him on a freight car; but he

came near getting me once or twice, and only quick broncho work and lance play saved me.

"In the Yellowstone Park all our buffaloes have become docile, excepting the huge bull which led them. The

Indians call the buffalo leader the 'Weetah,' the master of the herd. It was sure death to go near this one. So I

shipped in another Weetah, hoping that he might whip some of the fight out of old Manitou, the Mighty.

They came together head on, like a railway collision, and ripped up over a square mile of landscape, fighting

"I jumped into the field with them, chasing them with my biograph, getting a series of moving pictures of that

bullfight which was sure the real thing. It was a ticklish thing to do, though knowing that neither bull dared

take his eyes off his adversary for a second, I felt reasonably safe. The old Weetah beat the new champion out

that night, but the next morning they were at it again, and the new buffalo finally whipped the old one into

submission. Since then his spirit has remained broken, and even a child can approach him safelybut the

"To handle buffalo, elk and bear, you must get into sympathy with their methods of reasoning. No tenderfoot

The old buffalo hunter's lips were no longer locked. One after another he told reminiscences of his eventful

life, in a simple manner; yet so vivid and gripping were the unvarnished details that I was spellbound.

"Considering what appears the impossibility of capturing a fullgrown buffalo, how did you earn the name of

"It took years to learn how, and ten more to capture the fiftyeight that I was able to keep. I tried every plan

under the sun. I roped hundreds, of all sizes and ages. They would not live in captivity. If they could not find

an embankment over which to break their necks, they would crush their skulls on stones. Failing any means

like that, they would lie down, will themselves to die, and die. Think of a savage wild nature that could will

its heart to cease beating! But it's true. Finally I found I could keep only calves under three months of age.

But to capture them so young entailed time and patience. For the buffalo fight for their young, and when I say

fight, I mean till they drop. I almost always had to go alone, because I could neither coax nor hire any one to

undertake it with me. Sometimes I would be weeks getting one calf. One day I captured eighteight little

"Tell us about it," I suggested, in a matter of fact, roundthecampfire voice. Had the silent plainsman ever

told a complete and full story of his adventures? I doubted it. He was not the man to eulogize himself.

A short silence ensued. The cabin was snug and warm; the ruddy embers glowed; one of Jim's pots steamed

Jones began to talk again, simply and unaffectedly, of his famous exploit; and as he went on so modestly,

passing lightly over features we recognized as wonderful, I allowed the fire of my imagination to fuse for

myself all the toil, patience, endurance, skill, herculean strength and marvelous courage and unfathomable

Over gray NoMan'sLand stole down the shadows of night. The undulating prairie shaded dark to the

western horizon, rimmed with a fading streak of light. Tall figures, silhouetted sharply against the last golden

"Wild hunter!" cried a voice in sullen rage, "buffalo or no, we halt here. Did Adams and I hire to cross the

Staked Plains? Two weeks in NoMan'sLand, and now we're facing the sand! We've one keg of water, yet

you want to keep on. Why, man, you're crazy! You didn't tell us you wanted buffalo alive. And here you've

In the grim silence that ensued the two men unhitched the team from the long, light wagon, while the buffalo

hunter staked out his wiry, lithelimbed racehorses. Soon a fluttering blaze threw a circle of light, which

shone on the agitated face of Rude and Adams, and the cold, ironset visage of their brawny leader.

"It's this way," began Jones, in slow, cool voice; "I engaged you fellows, and you promised to stick by me.

We've had no luck. But I've finally found signold sign, I'll admit the buffalo I'm looking forthe last herd

on the plains. For two years I've been hunting this herd. So have other hunters. Millions of buffalo have been

killed and left to rot. Soon this herd will be gone, and then the only buffalo in the world will be those I have

given ten years of the hardest work in capturing. This is the last herd, I say, and my last chance to capture a

calf or two. Do you imagine I'd quit? You fellows go back if you want, but I keep on."

"We can't go back. We're lost. We'll have to go with you. But, man, thirst is not the only risk we run. This is

They slept. The night wind swished the grasses; dark storm clouds blotted out the northern stars; the prairie

Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a leaden sky. The hunters traveled thirty miles by noon, and halted in

a hollow where a stream flowed in wet season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into green; thickets of prickly

"Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cottonwoods," he ordered, tersely. Springing to his feet, he ran to

the top of the knoll above the hollow, where he again placed his ear to the ground.

Jones's practiced ear had detected the quavering rumble of faraway, thundering hoofs. He searched the wide

waste of plain with his powerful glass. To the southwest, miles distant, a cloud of dust mushroomed skyward.

"Not buffalo," he muttered, "maybe wild horses." He watched and waited. The yellow cloud rolled forward,

enlarging, spreading out, and drove before it a darkly indistinct, moving mass. As soon as he had one good

Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps, and made ready to follow Jones. He slipped into the

thorny brake and, flat on his stomach, wormed his way like a snake far into the thickly interlaced web of

branches. Rude and Adams crawled after him. Words were superfluous. Quiet, breathless, with beating

hearts, the hunters pressed close to the dry grass. A long, low, steady rumble filled the air, and increased in

volume till it became a roar. Moments, endless moments, passed. The roar filled out like a flood slowly

released from its confines to sweep down with the sound of doom. The ground began to tremble and quake:

the light faded; the smell of dust pervaded the thicket, then a continuous streaming roar, deafening as

persistent roll of thunder, pervaded the hiding place. The stampeding horses had split round the hollow. The

roar lessened. Swiftly as a departing snowsquall rushing on through the pines, the thunderous thud and

The trained horses hidden in the cottonwoods never stirred. "Lie low! lie low!" breathed the plainsman to his

Throb of hoofs again became audible, not loud and madly pounding as those that had passed, but low,

muffled, rhythmic. Jones's sharp eye, through a peephole in the thicket, saw a creamcolored mustang bob

over the knoll, carrying an Indian. Another and another, then a swiftly following, closepacked throng

appeared. Bright red feathers and white gleamed; weapons glinted; gaunt, bronzed savage leaned forward on

The plainsman shrank closer to the ground. "Apache!" he exclaimed to himself, and gripped his rifle. The

band galloped down to the hollow, and slowing up, piled single file over the bank. The leader, a short, squat

chief, plunged into the brake not twenty yards from the hidden men. Jones recognized the cream mustang; he

knew the somber, sinister, broad face. It belonged to the Red Chief of the Apaches.

Well for the Apache that no falcon savage eye discovered aught strange in the little hollow! One look at the

sand of the stream bed would have cost him his life. But the Indians crossed the thicket too far up; they

"Gone. But wait," whispered Jones. He knew the savage nature, and he knew how to wait. After a long time,

he cautiously crawled out of the thicket and searched the surroundings with a plainsman's eye. He climbed

the slope and saw the clouds of dust, the near one small, the far one large, which told him all he needed to

"Comanches?" queried Adams, with a quaver in his voice. He was new to the plains.

"Likely," said Jones, who thought it best not to tell all he knew. Then he added to himself: "We've no time to

lose. There's water back here somewhere. The Indians have spotted the buffalo, and were running the horses

The three got under way again, proceeding carefully, so as not to raise the dust, and headed due southwest.

Scantier and scantier grew the grass; the hollows were washes of sand; steely gray dunes, like long, flat,

ocean swells, ribbed the prairie. The gray day declined. Late into the purple night they traveled, then camped

In the gray morning Jones climbed a high ride and scanned the southwest. Low duncolored sandhills waved

from him down and down, in slow, deceptive descent. A solitary and remote waste reached out into gray

infinitude. A pale lake, gray as the rest of that gray expanse, glimmered in the distance.

"Mirage!" he muttered, focusing his glass, which only magnified all under the dead gray, steely sky. "Water

must be somewhere; but can that be it? It's too pale and elusive to be real. No lifea blasted, staked plain!

A thin, black, wavering line of wild fowl, moving in beautiful, rapid flight, crossed the line of his vision.

"Geese flying north, and low. There's water here," he said. He followed the flock with his glass, saw them

"It's water." He hurried back to camp. His haggard and worn companions scorned his discovery. Adams

siding with Rude, who knew the plains, said: "Mirage! the lure of the desert!" Yet dominated by a force too

powerful for them to resist, they followed the buffalohunter. All day the gleaming lake beckoned them

onward, and seemed to recede. All day the drab clouds scudded before the cold north wind. In the gray

twilight, the lake suddenly lay before them, as if it had opened at their feet. The men rejoiced, the horses

The whinnies of the horses, the clank of harness, and splash of water, the whirl of ducks did not blur out of

Jones's keen ear a sound that made him jump. It was the thump of hoofs, in a familiar beat, beat, beat. He saw

a shadow moving up a ridge. Soon, outlined black against the yet light sky, a lone buffalo cow stood like a

statue. A moment she held toward the lake, studying the danger, then went out of sight over the ridge.

Jones spurred his horse up the ascent, which was rather long and steep, but he mounted the summit in time to

see the cow join eight huge, shaggy buffalo. The hunter reined in his horse, and standing high in his stirrups,

held his hat at arms' length over his head. So he thrilled to a moment he had sought for two years. The last

herd of American bison was near at hand. The cow would not venture far from the main herd; the eight

stragglers were the old brokendown bulls that had been expelled, at this season, from the herd by younger

and more vigorous bulls. The old monarchs saw the hunter at the same time his eyes were gladdened by sight

of them, and lumbered away after the cow, to disappear in the gathering darkness. Frightened buffalo always

make straight for their fellows; and this knowledge contented Jones to return to the lake, well satisfied that

the herd would not be far away in the morning, within easy striking distance by daylight.

At dark the storm which had threatened for days, broke in a fury of rain, sleet and hail. The hunters stretched

a piece of canvas over the wheels of the north side of the wagon, and wet and shivering, crawled under it to

Dawn, forbidding and raw, lightened to the whistle of the sleety gusts. Fire was out of the question. Chary of

weight, the hunters had carried no wood, and the buffalo chips they used for fuel were lumps of ice.

Grumbling, Adams and Rude ate a cold breakfast, while Jones, munching a biscuit, faced the biting blast

from the crest of the ridge. The middle of the plain below held a ragged, circular mass, as still as stone. It was

the buffalo herd, with every shaggy head to the storm. So they would stand, never budging from their tracks,

Jones, though eager and impatient, restrained himself, for it was unwise to begin operations in the storm.

There was nothing to do but wait. Ill fared the hunters that day. Food had to be eaten uncooked. The long

hours dragged by with the little group huddled under icy blankets. When darkness fell, the sleet changed to

drizzling rain. This blew over at midnight, and a colder wind, penetrating to the very marrow of the sleepless

men, made their condition worse. In the after part of the night, the wolves howled mournfully.

With a gray, misty light appearing in the east, Jones threw off his stiff, iceincased blanket, and crawled out.

A gaunt gray wolf, the color of the day and the sand and the lake, sneaked away, looking back. While moving

and threshing about to warm his frozen blood, Jones munched another biscuit. Five men crawled from under

the wagon, and made an unfruitful search for the whisky. Fearing it, Jones had thrown the bottle away. The

men cursed. The patient horses drooped sadly, and shivered in the lee of the improvised tent. Jones kicked the

inchthick casing of ice from his saddle. Kentuck, his racer, had been spared on the whole trip for this day's

work. The thoroughbred was cold, but as Jones threw the saddle over him, he showed that he knew the chase

ahead, and was eager to be off. At last, after repeated efforts with his benumbed fingers, Jones got the girths

"Follow as fast as you can," he called to his surly men. "The buffs will run north against the wind. This is the

right direction for us; we'll soon leave the sand. Stick to my trail and come ahumming."

From the ridge he met the red sun, rising bright, and a keen northeasterly wind that lashed like a whip. As he

had anticipated, his quarry had moved northward. Kentuck let out into a swinging stride, which in an hour

had the loping herd in sight. Every jump now took him upon higher ground, where the sand failed, and the

In the teeth of the nipping gale Jones slipped close upon the herd without alarming even a cow. More than a

hundred little reddishblack calves leisurely loped in the rear. Kentuck, keen to his work, crept on like a

wolf, and the hunter's great fist clenched the coiled lasso. Before him expanded a boundless plain. A situation

long cherished and dreamed of had become a reality. Kentuck, fresh and strong, was good for all day. Jones

gloated over the little red bulls and heifers, as a miser gloats over gold and jewels. Never before had he

caught more than two in one day, and often it had taken days to capture one. This was the last herd, this the

last opportunity toward perpetuating a grand race of beasts. And with born instinct he saw ahead the day of

At a touch, Kentuck closed in, and the buffalo, seeing him, stampeded into the heaving roll so well known to

the hunter. Racing on the right flank of the herd, Jones selected a tawny heifer and shot the lariat after her. It

fell true, but being stiff and kinky from the sleet, failed to tighten, and the quick calf leaped through the loop

Undismayed the pursuer quickly recovered his rope. Again he whirled and sent the loop. Again it circled true,

and failed to close; again the agile heifer bounded through it. Jones whipped the air with the stubborn rope.

The third whirl, running a smaller loop, tightened the coil round the frightened calf just back of its ears. A

pull on the bridle brought Kentuck to a halt in his tracks, and the baby buffalo rolled over and over in the

grass. Jones bounced from his seat and jerked loose a couple of the soft cords. In a twinkling; his big knee

Kentuck neighed. Jones saw his black ears go up. Danger threatened. For a moment the hunter's blood turned

chill, not from fear, for he never felt fear, but because he thought the Indians were returning to ruin his work.

His eye swept the plain. Only the gray forms of wolves flitted through the grass, here, there, all about him.

Wolves! They were as fatal to his enterprise as savages. A trooping pack of prairie wolves had fallen in with

the herd and hung close on the trail, trying to cut a calf away from its mother. The gray brutes boldly trotted

to within a few yards of him, and slyly looked at him, with pale, fiery eyes. They had already scented his

captive. Precious time flew by; the situation, critical and baffling, had never before been met by him. There

lay his little calf tied fast, and to the north ran many others, some of which he musthe would have. To

think quickly had meant the solving of many a plainsman's problem. Should he stay with his prize to save it,

"Ha! you old gray devils!" he yelled, shaking his fist at the wolves. "I know a trick or two." Slipping his hat

between the legs of the calf, he fastened it securely. This done, he vaulted on Kentuck, and was off with

never a backward glance. Certain it was that the wolves would not touch anything, alive or dead, that bore the

The bison scoured away a long halfmile in the lead, sailing northward like a cloudshadow over the plain.

Kentuck, mettlesome, overeager, would have run himself out in short order, but the wary hunter, strong to

restrain as well as impel, with the long day in his mind, kept the steed in his easy stride, which, springy and

A dash, a swirl, a shock, a leap, horse and hunter working in perfect accord, and a fine big calf, bellowing

lustily, struggled desperately for freedom under the remorseless knee. The big hands toyed with him; and

then, secure in the double knots, the calf lay still, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes, with the coat of

The race had but begun; the horse had but warmed to his work; the hunter had but tasted of sweet triumph.

Another hopeful of a buffalo mother, negligent in danger, truant from his brothers, stumbled and fell in the

enmeshing loop. The hunter's vest, slipped over the calf's neck, served as danger signal to the wolves. Before

the lumbering buffalo missed their loss, another red and black baby kicked helplessly on the grass and sent up

vain, weak calls, and at last lay still, with the hunter's boot tied to his cords.

Four! Jones counted them aloud, add in his mind, and kept on. Fast, hard work, covering upward of fifteen

miles, had begun to tell on herd, horse and man, and all slowed down to the call for strength. The fifth time

Jones closed in on his game, he encountered different circumstances such as called forth his cunning.

The herd had opened up; the mothers had fallen back to the rear; the calves hung almost out of sight under the

shaggy sides of protectors. To try them out Jones darted close and threw his lasso. It struck a cow. With

activity incredible in such a huge beast, she lunged at him. Kentuck, expecting just such a move, wheeled to

safety. This duel, ineffectual on both sides, kept up for a while, and all the time, man and herd were jogging

Jones could not let well enough alone; he acknowledged this even as he swore he must have five.

Emboldened by his marvelous luck, and yielding headlong to the passion within, he threw caution to the

winds. A lame old cow with a red calf caught his eye; in he spurred his willing horse and slung his rope. It

stung the haunch of the mother. The mad grunt she vented was no quicker than the velocity with which she

plunged and reared. Jones had but time to swing his leg over the saddle when the hoofs beat down. Kentuck

rolled on the plain, flinging his rider from him. The infuriated buffalo lowered her head for the fatal charge

on the horse, when the plainsman, jerking out his heavy Colts, shot her dead in her tracks.

Kentuck got to his feet unhurt, and stood his ground, quivering but ready, showing his steadfast courage. He

showed more, for his ears lay back, and his eyes had the gleam of the animal that strikes back.

The calf ran round its mother. Jones lassoed it, and tied it down, being compelled to cut a piece from his

lasso, as the cords on the saddle had given out. He left his other boot with baby number five. The still

heaving, smoking body of the victim called forth the stern, intrepid hunter's pity for a moment. Spill of blood

he had not wanted. But he had not been able to avoid it; and mounting again with closeshut jaw and

Kentuck snorted; the pursuing wolves shied off in the grass; the pale sun began to slant westward. The cold

When once more he came hounding the buffalo, they were considerably winded. Shorttufted tails, raised

stiffly, gave warning. Snorts, like puffs of escaping steam, and deep grunts from cavernous chests evinced

anger and impatience that might, at any moment, bring the herd to a defiant stand.

He whizzed the shortened noose over the head of a calf that was laboring painfully to keep up, and had

slipped down, when a mighty grunt told him of peril. Never looking to see whence it came, he sprang into the

saddle. Fiery Kentuck jumped into action, then hauled up with a shock that almost threw himself and rider.

The lasso, fast to the horse, and its loop end round the calf, had caused the sudden check.

A maddened cow bore down on Kentuck. The gallant horse straightened in a jump, but dragging the calf

pulled him in a circle, and in another moment he was running round and round the howling, kicking pivot.

Then ensued a terrible race, with horse and bison describing a twentyfoot circle. Bang! Bang! The hunter

fired two shots, and heard the spats of the bullets. But they only augmented the frenzy of the beast. Faster

Kentuck flew, snorting in terror; closer drew the dusty, bouncing pursuer; the calf spun like a top; the lasso

strung tighter than wire. Jones strained to loosen the fastening, but in vain. He swore at his carelessness in

dropping his knife by the last calf he had tied. He thought of shooting the rope, yet dared not risk the shot. A

hollow sound turned him again, with the Colts leveled. Bang! Dust flew from the ground beyond the bison.

The two charges left in the gun were all that stood between him and eternity. With a desperate display of

strength Jones threw his weight in a backward pull, and hauled Kentuck up. Then he leaned far back in the

saddle, and shoved the Colts out beyond the horse's flank. Down went the broad head, with its black,

glistening horns. Bang! She slid forward with a crash, plowing the ground with hoofs and nosespouted

Kentuck, for once completely terrorized, reared and plunged from the cow, dragging the calf. Stern command

and iron arm forced him to a standstill. The calf, nearly strangled, recovered when the noose was slipped, and

moaned a feeble protest against life and captivity. The remainder of Jones's lasso went to bind number six,

"Six! On! On! Kentuck! On!" Weakening, but unconscious of it, with bloody hands and feet, without lasso,

and with only one charge in his revolver, hatless, coatless, vestless, bootless, the wild hunter urged on the

noble horse. The herd had gained miles in the interval of the fight. Game to the backbone, Kentuck

lengthened out to overhaul it, and slowly the rolling gap lessened and lessened. A long hour thumped away,

Once again the lagging calves dotted the grassy plain before the hunter. He dashed beside a burly calf,

grasped its tail, stopped his horse, and jumped. The calf went down with him, and did not come up. The

knotted, bloodstained hands, like claws of steel, bound the hind legs close and fast with a leathern belt, and

The sun slanted westwardly toward the purpling horizon; the grassy plain gleamed like a ruffled sea of glass;

When next the hunter came within sight of the herd, over a wavy ridge, changes in its shape and movement

met his gaze. The calves were almost done; they could run no more; their mothers faced the south, and trotted

slowly to and fro; the bulls were grunting, herding, piling close. It looked as if the herd meant to stand and

This mattered little to the hunter who had captured seven calves since dawn. The first limping calf he reached

tried to elude the grasping hand and failed. Kentuck had been trained to wheel to the right or left, in

whichever way his rider leaned; and as Jones bent over and caught an upraised tail, the horse turned to strike

the calf with both front hoofs. The calf rolled; the horse plunged down; the rider sped beyond to the dust.

Though the calf was tired, he still could bellow, and he filled the air with robust bawls.

Jones all at once saw twenty or more buffalo dash in at him with fast, twinkling, short legs. With the thought

of it, he was in the air to the saddle. As the black, round mounds charged from every direction, Kentuck let

out with all there was left in him. He leaped and whirled, pitched and swerved, in a roaring, clashing, dusty

melee. Beating hoofs threw the turf, flying tails whipped the air, and everywhere were dusky, sharppointed

heads, tossing low. Kentuck squeezed out unscathed. The mob of bison, bristling, turned to lumber after the

main herd. Jones seized his opportunity and rode after them, yelling with all his might. He drove them so

hard that soon the little fellows lagged paces behind. Only one or two old cows straggled with the calves.

Then wheeling Kentuck, he cut between the herd and a calf, and rode it down. Bewildered, the tously little

bull bellowed in great affright. The hunter seized the stiff tail, and calling to his horse, leaped off. But his

strength was far spent and the buffalo, larger than his fellows, threshed about and jerked in terror. Jones threw

it again and again. But it struggled up, never once ceasing its loud demands for help. Finally the hunter

Above the rumble of retreating hoofs, Jones heard the familiar short, quick, jarring pound on the turf.

Kentuck neighed his alarm and raced to the right. Bearing down on the hunter, hurtling through the air, was a

giant furry mass, instinct with fierce life and powera buffalo cow robbed of her young.

With his senses almost numb, barely able to pull and raise the Colt, the plainsman willed to live, and to keep

The calf stirred beneath him. He put out a hand to touch a warm, furry coat. The mother had fallen beside

him. Lifting a heavy hoof, he laid it over the neck of the calf to serve as additional weight. He lay still and

The evening waned. Still the hunter lay quiet. From time to time the calf struggled and bellowed. Lank, gray

wolves appeared on all sides; they prowled about with hungry howls, and shoved blacktipped noses through

the grass. The sun sank, and the sky paled to opal blue. A star shone out, then another, and another. Over the

Suddenly the hunter laid his ear to the ground, and listened. Faint beats, like throbs of a pulsing heart,

shuddered from the soft turf. Stronger they grew, till the hunter raised his head. Dark forms approached;

"Frank, what'll we do about horses?" asked Jones. "Jim'll want the bay, and of course you'll want to ride Spot.

"I've been thinkin'," replied the foreman. "You sure will need good mounts. Now it happens that a friend of

mine is just at this time at House Rock Valley, an outlyin' post of one of the big Utah ranches. He is gettin' in

the horses off the range, an' he has some crackin' good ones. Let's ooze over thereit's only thirty

We were all eager to act upon Frank's suggestion. So plans were made for three of us to ride over and select

our mounts. Frank and Jim would follow with the pack train, and if all went well, on the following evening

Early next morning we were on our way. I tried to find a soft place on Old Baldy, one of Frank's pack horses.

He was a horse that would not have raised up at the trumpet of doom. Nothing under the sun, Frank said,

bothered Old Baldy but the operation of shoeing. We made the distance to the outpost by noon, and found

Frank's friend a genial and obliging cowboy, who said we could have all the horses we wanted.

While Jones and Wallace strutted round the big corral, which was full of vicious, dusty, shaggy horses and

mustangs, I sat high on the fence. I heard them talking about points and girth and stride, and a lot of terms

that I could not understand. Wallace selected a heavy sorrel, and Jones a big bay; very like Jim's. I had

observed, way over in the corner of the corral, a bunch of cayuses, and among them a cleanlimbed black

horse. Edging round on the fence I got a closer view, and then cried out that I had found my horse. I jumped

down and caught him, much to my surprise, for the other horses were wild, and had kicked viciously. The

black was beautifully built, widechested and powerful, but not heavy. His coat glistened like sheeny black

"I don't know about giving you Satanthat's his name," said the cowboy. "The foreman rides him often. He's

"But I guess I can let you have him," he continued, when he saw my disappointed face.

"Would you like to trade?" asked Wallace, as his sorrel tried to bite him. "That black looks sort of fierce."

I led my prize out of the corral, up to the little cabin nearby, where I tied him, and proceeded to get

acquainted after a fashion of my own. Though not versed in horselore, I knew that half the battle was to win

his confidence. I smoothed his silky coat, and patted him, and then surreptitiously slipped a lump of sugar

from my pocket. This sugar, which I had purloined in Flagstaff, and carried all the way across the desert, was

somewhat disreputably soiled, and Satan sniffed at it disdainfully. Evidently he had never smelled or tasted

sugar. I pressed it into his mouth. He munched it, and then looked me over with some interest. I handed him

Frank and Jim came along early in the afternoon. What with packing, changing saddles and shoeing the

horses, we were all busy. Old Baldy would not be shod, so we let him off till a more opportune time. By four

o'clock we were riding toward the slopes of Buckskin, now only a few miles away, standing up higher and

"What's that for?" inquired Wallace, pointing to a long, rusty, wirewrapped, doublebarreled blunderbuss of

The Colonel, who had been having a fine time with the impatient and curious hounds, did not vouchsafe any

information on that score. But very shortly we were destined to learn the use of this incongruous firearm. I

was riding in advance of Wallace, and a little behind Jones. The dogsexcepting Jude, who had been kicked

and lamedwere ranging along before their master. Suddenly, right before me, I saw an immense

jackrabbit; and just then Moze and Don caught sight of it. In fact, Moze bumped his blunt nose into the

rabbit. When it leaped into scared action, Moze yelped, and Don followed suit. Then they were after it in

wild, clamoring pursuit. Jones let out the stentorian blast, now becoming familiar, and spurred after them. He

reached over, pulled the shotgun out of the holster and fired both barrels at the jumping dogs.

Don came sneaking back with his tail between his legs, and Moze, who had cowered as if stung, circled

"Come in hyah! You measly rabbit dogs! What do you mean chasing off that way? We're after lions. Lions!

Don looked thoroughly convinced of his error, but Moze, being more thickheaded, appeared mystified

"Number ten. They don't hurt much at seventy five yards," replied our leader. "I use them as sort of a long

arm. You see, the dogs must be made to know what we're after. Ordinary means would never do in a case like

this. My idea is to break them of coyotes, wolves and deer, and when we cross a lion trail, let them go. I'll

teach them sooner than you'd think. Only we must get where we can see what they're trailing. Then I can tell

The sun was gilding the rim of the desert rampart when we began the ascent of the foothills of Buckskin. A

steep trail wound zigzag up the mountain We led our horses, as it was a long, hard climb. From time to time,

as I stopped to catch my breath I gazed away across the growing void to the gorgeous Pink Cliffs, far above

and beyond the red wall which had seemed so high, and then out toward the desert. The irregular ragged

crack in the plain, apparently only a thread of broken ground, was the Grand Canyon. How unutterably

remote, wild, grand was that world of red and brown, of purple pall, of vague outline!

Two thousand feet, probably, we mounted to what Frank called Little Buckskin. In the west a copper glow,

ridged with leadcolored clouds, marked where the sun had set. The air was very thin and icy cold. At the

first clump of pinyon pines, we made dry camp. When I sat down it was as if I had been anchored. Frank

solicitously remarked that I looked "sort of beat." Jim built a roaring fire and began getting supper. A snow

squall came on the rushing wind. The air grew colder, and though I hugged the fire, I could not get warm.

When I had satisfied my hunger, I rolled out my sleepingbag and crept into it. I stretched my aching limbs

and did not move again. Once I awoke, drowsily feeling the warmth of the fire, and I heard Frank say: "He's

"He's all in," said Jones. "Riding's what did it You know how a horse tears a man to pieces."

"Will he be able to stand it?" asked Frank, with as much solicitude as if he were my brother. "When you get

out after anythin'well, you're hell. An' think of the country we're goin' into. I know you've never seen the

breaks of the Siwash, but I have, an' it's the worst an' roughest country I ever saw. Breaks after breaks, like

the ridges on a washboard, headin' on the south slope of Buckskin, an' runnin' down, side by side, miles an'

miles, deeper an' deeper, till they run into that awful hole. It will be a killin' trip on men, horses an' dogs.

Now, Mr. Wallace, he's been campin' an' roughin' with the Navajos for months; he's in some kind of shape,

"I'm some worried, too," replied Jones. "But he would come. He stood the desert well enough; even the

In the ensuing silence the fire sputtered, the glare fitfully merged into dark shadows under the weird pinyons,

"Wal," drawled a slow, soft voice, "shore I reckon you're hollerin' too soon. Frank's measly trick puttin' him

on Spot showed me. He rode out on Spot, an' he rode in on Spot. Shore he'll stay."

It was not all the warmth of the blankets that glowed over me then. The voices died away dreamily, and my

eyelids dropped sleepily tight. Late in the night I sat up suddenly, roused by some unusual disturbance. The

fire was dead; the wind swept with a rush through the pinyons. From the black darkness came the staccato

chorus of coyotes. Don barked his displeasure; Sounder made the welkin ring, and old Moze growled low and

Dawn, rosy red, confronted me when I opened my eyes. Breakfast was ready; Frank was packing Old Baldy;

Jones talked to his horse as he saddled him; Wallace came stooping his giant figure under the pinyons; the

dogs, eager and softeyed, sat around Jim and begged. The sun peeped over the Pink Cliffs; the desert still

When Frank threw the saddle over Satan I interrupted him and said I would care for my horse henceforward.

The trail rolled over the ridges of pinyon and scrubby pine. Occasionally we could see the black, ragged crest

of Buckskin above us. From one of these ridges I took my last long look back at the desert, and engraved on

my mind a picture of the red wall, and the manyhued ocean of sand. The trail, narrow and indistinct,

mounted the last slowrising slope; the pinyons failed, and the scrubby pines became abundant. At length we

reached the top, and entered the great arched aisles of Buckskin Forest. The ground was flat as a table.

Magnificent pine trees, far apart, with branches high and spreading, gave the eye glad welcome. Some of

these monarchs were eight feet thick at the base and two hundred feet high. Here and there one lay, gaunt and

prostrate, a victim of the wind. The smell of pitch pine was sweetly overpowering.

"When I went through here two weeks ago, the snow was a foot deep, an' I bogged in places," said Frank.

"The sun has been oozin' round here some. I'm afraid Jones won't find any snow on this end of Buckskin."

Thirty miles of winding trail, brown and springy from its thick mat of pine needles, shaded always by the

massive, seamybarked trees, took us over the extremity of Buckskin. Then we faced down into the head of a

ravine that ever grew deeper, stonier and rougher. I shifted from side to side, from leg to leg in my saddle,

dismounted and hobbled before Satan, mounted again, and rode on. Jones called the dogs and complained to

them of the lack of snow. Wallace sat his horse comfortably, taking long pulls at his pipe and long gazes at

the shaggy sides of the ravine. Frank, energetic and tireless, kept the packhorses in the trail. Jim jogged on

The spring was pleasantly situated in a grove of oaks and Pinyons, under the shadow of three cliffs. Three

ravines opened here into an oval valley. A rude cabin of roughhewn logs stood near the spring.

"Get down, get down," sang out Frank. "We'll hang up here. Beyond Oak is NoMan'sLand. We take our

When we had unsaddled, unpacked, and got a fire roaring on the wide stone hearth of the cabin, it was once

"Boys," said Jones after supper, "we're now on the edge of the lion country. Frank saw lion sign in here only

two weeks ago; and though the snow is gone, we stand a show of finding tracks in the sand and dust.

Tomorrow morning, before the sun gets a chance at the bottom of these ravines, we'll be up and doing. We'll

each take a dog and search in different directions. Keep the dog in leash, and when he opens up, examine the

ground carefully for tracks. If a dog opens on any track that you are sure isn't lion's, punish him. And when a

liontrack is found, hold the dog in, wait and signal. We'll use a signal I have tried and found farreaching

and easy to yell. Waahoo! That's it. Once yelled it means come. Twice means comes quickly. Three times

In one corner of the cabin was a platform of poles, covered with straw. I threw the sleepingbag on this, and

was soon stretched out. Misgivings as to my strength worried me before I closed my eyes. Once on my back,

I felt I could not rise; my chest was sore; my cough deep and rasping. It seemed I had scarcely closed my

I tumbled out in a gray, wan twilight. It was cold enough to make the fire acceptable, but nothing like the

"Jones," said Frank, "Jim an' I'll ooze round here today. There's lots to do, an' we want to have things

hitched right before we strike for the Siwash. We've got to shoe Old Baldy, an' if we can't get him locoed, it'll

The light was still gray when Jones led off with Don, Wallace with Sounder and I with Moze. Jones directed

us to separate, follow the dry stream beds in the ravines, and remember his instructions given the night

The ravine to the right, which I entered, was choked with huge stones fallen from the cliff above, and pinyons

growing thick; and I wondered apprehensively how a man could evade a wild animal in such a place, much

less chase it. Old Moze pulled on his chain and sniffed at coyote and deer tracks. And every time he evinced

interest in such, I cut him with a switch, which, to tell the truth, he did not notice. I thought I heard a shout,

"Waahoowaahoo!" floated on the air, rather deadened as if it had come from round the triangular cliff

that faced into the valley. Urging and dragging Moze, I ran down the ravine as fast as I could, and soon

encountered Wallace coming from the middle ravine. "Jones," he said excitedly, "this waythere's the signal

again." We dashed in haste for the mouth of the third ravine, and came suddenly upon Jones, kneeling under a

pinyon tree. "Boys, look!" he exclaimed, as he pointed to the ground. There, clearly defined in the dust, was a

cat track as big as my spread hand, and the mere sight of it sent a chill up my spine. "There's a lion track for

you; made by a female, a twoyearold; but can't say if she passed here last night. Don won't take the trail.

I led Moze to the big, round imprint, and put his nose down into it. The old hound sniffed and sniffed, then

"Cold!" ejaculated Jones. "No go. Try Sounder. Come, old boy, you've the nose for it."

He urged the relucant hound forward. Sounder needed not to be shown the trail; he stuck his nose in it, and

stood very quiet for a long moment; then he quivered slightly, raised his nose and sought the next track. Step

"Look at that!" cried Jones in delight. "He's caught a scent when the others couldn't. Hyah, Moze, get back.

Slowly Sounder paced up the ravine, as carefully as if he were traveling on thin ice. He passed the dusty,

We were electrified to hear him give vent to a deep bugleblast note of eagerness.

"By George, he's got it, boys!" exclaimed Jones, as he lifted the stubborn, struggling hound off the trail. "I

know that bay. It means a lion passed here this morning. And we'll get him up as sure as you're alive. Come,

As we ran pellmell into the little glade, where Jim sat mending some saddle trapping, Frank rode up the trail

"Well, I heard Sounder," he said with his genial smile. "Somethin's comin' off, eh? You'll have to ooze round

I saddled Satan with fingers that trembled in excitement, and pushed my little Remington automatic into the

"Boys, listen," said our leader. "We're off now in the beginning of a hunt new to you. Remember no shooting,

no bloodletting, except in selfdefense. Keep as close to me as you can. Listen for the dogs, and when you

fall behind or separate, yell out the signal cry. Don't forget this. We're bound to lose each other. Look out for

the spikes and branches on the trees. If the dogs split, whoever follows the one that trees the lion must wait

there till the rest come up. Off now! Come, Sounder; Moze, you rascal, hyah! Come, Don, come, Puppy, and

Except Moze, the hounds were all trembling and running eagerly to and fro. When Sounder was loosed, he

led them in a beeline to the trail, with us cantering after. Sounder worked exactly as before, only he

followed the lion tracks a little farther up the ravine before he bayed. He kept going faster and faster,

occasionally letting out one deep, short yelp. The other hounds did not give tongue, but eager, excited,

baffled, kept at his heels. The ravine was long, and the wash at the bottom, up which the lion had proceeded,

turned and twisted round boulders large as houses, and led through dense growths of some short, rough shrub.

Now and then the lion tracks showed plainly in the sand. For five miles or more Sounder led us up the ravine,

which began to contract and grow steep. The dry stream bed got to be full of thickets of branchless saplings,

about the poplartall, straight, size of a man's arm, and growing so close we had to press them aside to let

Presently Sounder slowed up and appeared at fault. We found him puzzling over an open, grassy patch, and

"Cute dog!" declared Jones. "That Sounder will make a lion chaser. Our game has gone up here somewhere."

Sure enough, Sounder directly gave tongue from the side of the ravine. It was climb for us now. Broken

shale, rocks of all dimensions, pinyons down and pinyons up made ascending no easy problem. We had to

dismount and lead the horses, thus losing ground. Jones forged ahead and reached the top of the ravine first.

When Wallace and I got up, breathing heavily, Jones and the hounds were out of sight. But Sounder kept

voicing his clear call, giving us our direction. Off we flew, over ground that was still rough, but enjoyable

going compared to the ravine slopes. The ridge was sparsely covered with cedar and pinyon, through which,

far ahead, we pretty soon spied Jones. Wallace signaled, and our leader answered twice. We caught up with

him on the brink of another ravine deeper and craggier than the first, full of dead, gnarled pinyon and

"This gulch is the largest of the three that head in at Oak Spring," said Jones. "Boys, don't forget your

direction. Always keep a feeling where camp is, always sense it every time you turn. The dogs have gone

down. That lion is in here somewhere. Maybe he lives down in the high cliffs near the spring and came up

here last night for a kill he's buried somewhere. Lions never travel far. Hark! Hark! There's Sounder and the

rest of them! They've got the scent; they've all got it! Down, boys, down, and ride!"

With that he crashed into the cedar in a way that showed me how impervious he was to slashing branches,

Wallace's big sorrel plunged after him and the rolling stones cracked. Suffering as I was by this time, with

cramp in my legs, and torturing pain, I had to choose between holding my horse in or falling off; so I chose

Dead cedar and pinyon trees lay everywhere, with their contorted limbs reaching out like the arms of a

devilfish. Stones blocked every opening. Making the bottom of the ravine after what seemed an

interminable time, I found the tracks of Jones and Wallace. A long "Waahoo!" drew me on; then the mellow

bay of a hound floated up the ravine. Satan made up time in the sandy stream bed, but kept me busily

dodging overhanging branches. I became aware, after a succession of efforts to keep from being strung on

pinyons, that the sand before me was clean and trackless. Hauling Satan up sharply, I waited irresolutely and

listened. Then from high up the ravine side wafted down a medley of yelps and barks.

"Waahoo, waahoo!" ringing down the slope, pealed against the cliff behind me, and sent the wild echoes

flying. Satan, of his own accord, headed up the incline. Surprised at this, I gave him free rein. How he did

climb! Not long did it take me to discover that he picked out easier going than I had. Once I saw Jones

crossing a ledge far above me, and I yelled our signal cry. The answer returned clear and sharp; then its echo

cracked under the hollow cliff, and crossing and recrossing the ravine, it died at last far away, like the

muffled peal of a bellbuoy. Again I heard the blended yelping of the hounds, and closer at hand. I saw a

long, low cliff above, and decided that the hounds were running at the base of it. Another chorus of yelps,

quicker, wilder than the others, drew a yell from me. Instinctively I knew the dogs had jumped game of some

kind. Satan knew it as well as I, for he quickened his pace and sent the stones clattering behind him.

I gained the base of the yellow cliff, but found no tracks in the dust of ages that had crumbled in its shadow,

nor did I hear the dogs. Considering how close they had seemed, this was strange. I halted and listened.

Silence reigned supreme. The ragged cracks in the cliff walls could have harbored many a watching lion, and

I cast an apprehensive glance into their dark confines. Then I turned my horse to get round the cliff and over

the ridge. When I again stopped, all I could hear was the thumping of my heart and the labored panting of

Satan. I came to a break in the cliff, a steep place of weathered rock, and I put Satan to it. He went up with a

will. From the narrow saddle of the ridgecrest I tried to take my bearings. Below me slanted the green of

pinyon, with the bleached treetops standing like spears, and uprising yellow stones. Fancying I heard a

gunshot, I leaned a straining ear against the soft breeze. The proof came presently in the unmistakable report

of Jones's blunderbuss. It was repeated almost instantly, giving reality to the direction, which was down the

slope of what I concluded must be the third ravine. Wondering what was the meaning of the shots, and

Hardly a moment elapsed before a sharp bark tingled in my ears. It belonged to old Moze. Soon I

distinguished a rattling of stones and the sharp, metallic clicks of hoofs striking rocks. Then into a space

below me loped a beautiful deer, so large that at first I took it for an elk. Another sharp bark, nearer this time,

told the tale of Moze's dereliction. In a few moments he came in sight, running with his tongue out and his

"Hyah, you old gladiator! hyah! hyah!" I yelled and yelled again. Moze passed over the saddle on the trail of

the deer, and his short bark floated back to remind me how far he was from a lion dog.

Then I divined the meaning of the shotgun reports. The hounds had crossed a fresher trail than that of the

lion, and our leader had discovered it. Despite a keen appreciation of Jones's task, I gave way to amusement,

and repeated Wallace's paradoxical formula: "Pet the lions and shoot the hounds."

So I headed down the ravine, looking for a blunt, bold crag, which I had descried from camp. I found it

before long, and profiting by past failures to judge of distance, gave my first impression a great stretch, and

Long after two miles had been covered, and I had begun to associate Jim's biscuits with a certain soft seat

near a ruddy fire, I was apparently still the same distance from my landmark crag. Suddenly a slight noise

brought me to a halt. I listened intently. Only an indistinct rattling of small rocks disturbed the impressive

stillness. It might have been the weathering that goes on constantly, and it might have been an animal. I

inclined to the former idea till I saw Satan's ears go up. Jones had told me to watch the ears of my horse, and

short as had been my acquaintance with Satan, I had learned that he always discovered things more quickly

From time to time a rattling roll of pebbles, almost musical, caught my ear. It came from the base of the wall

of yellow cliff that barred the summit of all those ridges. Satan threw up his head and nosed the breeze. The

delicate, almost stealthy sounds, the action of my horse, the waiting drove my heart to extra work. The breeze

quickened and fanned my cheek, and borne upon it came the faint and faraway bay of a hound. It came

again and again, each time nearer. Then on a stronger puff of wind rang the clear, deep, mellow call that had

given Sounder his beautiful name. Never it seemed had I heard music so bloodstirring. Sounder was on the

trail of something, and he had it headed my way. Satan heard, shot up his long ears, and tried to go ahead; but

Long moments I sat there, with the poignant consciousness of the wildness of the scene, of the significant

rattling of the stones and of the belltongued hound baying incessantly, sending warm joy through my veins,

the absorption in sensations new, yielding only to the hunting instinct when Satan snorted and quivered.

Again the deeptoned bay rang into the silence with its stirring thrill of life. And a sharp , rattling of stones

Across an open space in the pinyons a gray form flashed. I leaped off Satan and knelt to get a better view

under the trees. I soon made out another deer passing along the base of the cliff. Mounting again, I rode up to

A long time I had to wait for the hound. It proved that the atmosphere was as deceiving in regard to sound as

to sight. Finally Sounder came running along the wall. I got off to intercept him. The crazy fellowhe had

never responded to my overtures of friendshiputtered short, sharp yelps of delight, and actually leaped into

my arms. But I could not hold him. He darted upon the trail again and paid no heed to my angry shouts. With

The black stretched out with such a stride that I was at pains to keep my seat. I dodged the jutting rocks and

projecting snags; felt stinging branches in my face and the rush of sweet, dry wind. Under the crumbling

walls, over slopes of weathered stone and droppings of shelving rock, round protruding noses of cliff, over

and under pinyons Satan thundered. He came out on the top of the ridge, at the narrow back I had called a

saddle. Here I caught a glimpse of Sounder far below, going down into the ravine from which I had ascended

Weary to the point of exhaustion, I once more turned Satan toward camp. I lay forward on his neck and let

him have his will. Far down the ravine I awoke to strange sounds, and soon recognized the cracking of

ironshod hoofs against stone; then voices. Turning an abrupt bend in the sandy wash, I ran into Jones and

"Fall in! Line up in the sad procession!" said Jones. "Tige and the pup are faithful. The rest of the dogs are

I related my adventures, and tried to spare Moze and Sounder as much as conscience would permit.

"Hard luck!" commented Jones. "Just as the hounds jumped the cougarOh! they bounced him out of the

rocks all rightdon't you remember, just under that cliff wall where you and Wallace came up to me? Well,

just as they jumped him, they ran right into fresh deer tracks. I saw one of the deer. Now that's too much for

any hounds, except those trained for lions. I shot at Moze twice, but couldn't turn him. He has to be hurt,

Wallace told of a wild ride somewhere in Jones's wake, and of sundry knocks and bruises he had sustained, of

pieces of corduroy he had left decorating the cedars and of a most humiliating event, where a gaunt and bare

pinyon snag had penetrated under his belt and lifted him, mad and kicking, off his horse.

"These Western nags will hang you on a line every chance they get," declared Jones, "and don't you overlook

that. Well, there's the cabin. We'd better stay here a few days or a week and break in the dogs and horses, for

I groaned inwardly, and was remorselessly glad to see Wallace fall off his horse and walk on one leg to the

cabin. When I got my saddle off Satan, had given him a drink and hobbled him, I crept into the cabin and

dropped like a log. I felt as if every bone in my body was broken and my flesh was raw. I got gleeful

gratification from Wallace's complaints, and Jones's remark that he had a stitch in his back. So ended the first

Moze and Don and Sounder straggled into camp next morning, hungry, footsore and scarred; and as they

limped in, Jones met them with characteristic speech: "Well, you decided to come in when you got hungry

and tired? Never thought of how you fooled me, did you? Now, the first thing you get is a good licking."

He tied them in a little log pen near the cabin and whipped them soundly. And the next few days, while

Wallace and I rested, he took them out separately and deliberately ran them over coyote and deer trails.

Sometimes we heard his stentorian yell as a forerunner to the blast from his old shotgun. Then again we heard

the shots unheralded by the yell. Wallace and I waxed warm under the collar over this peculiar method of

training dogs, and each of us made dire threats. But in justice to their implacable trainer, the dogs never

appeared to be hurt; never a spot of blood flecked their glossy coats, nor did they ever come home limping.

"All hands ready to rustle," sang out Frank one morning. "Old Baldy's got to be shod."

This brought us all, except Jones, out of the cabin, to see the object of Frank's anxiety tied to a nearby oak. At

first I failed to recognize Old Baldy. Vanished was the slow, sleepy, apathetic manner that had characterized

him; his ears lay back on his head; fire flashed from his eyes. When Frank threw down a kitbag, which

emitted a metallic clanking, Old Baldy sat back on his haunches, planted his forefeet deep in the ground and

Frank got the three of us to hold Baldy's head and pull him up, then he ventured to lift a hind foot over his

line. Old Baldy straightened out his leg and sent Frank sprawling into the dirt. Twice again Frank patiently

tried to hold a hind leg, with the same result; and then he lifted a forefoot. Baldy uttered a very intelligible

snort, bit through Wallace's. glove, yanked Jim off his feet, and scared me so that I let go his forelock. Then

he broke the rope which held him to the tree. There was a plunge, a scattering of men, though Jim still

valiantly held on to Baldy's head, and a thrashing of scrub pinyon, where Baldy reached out vigorously with

"What's all the row?" called Jones from the cabin. Then from the door, taking in the situation, he yelled:

He leaped into action with a lasso in each hand, one whirling round his head. The slender rope straightened

with a whiz and whipped round Baldy's legs as he kicked viciously. Jones pulled it tight, then fastened it with

"Let go! let go! Jim!" he yelled, whirling the other lasso. The loop flashed and fell over Baldy's head and

tightened round his neck. Jones threw all the weight of his burly form on the lariat, and Baldy crashed to the

ground, rolled, tussled, screamed, and then lay on his back, kicking the air with three free legs. "Hold this,"

ordered Jones, giving the tight rope to Frank. Whereupon he grabbed my lasso from the saddle, roped Baldy's

two forefeet, and pulled him down on his side. This lasso he fastened to a scrub cedar.

"Likely he is," replied Jones shortly. "It'll do him good." But with his big hands he drew the coil loose and

It had all been done in a twinkling. Baldy lay there groaning and helpless, and when Frank once again took

hold of the wicked leg, he was almost passive. When the shoeing operation had been neatly and quickly

attended to and Baldy released from his uncomfortable position he struggled to his feet with heavy breaths,

"How'd you like being hogtied?" queried his conqueror, rubbing Baldy's nose. "Now, after this you'll have

Old Baldy seemed to understand, for he looked sheepish, and lapsed once more into his listless, lazy

"Lost. Couldn't find him this morning, an' had a deuce of a time findin' the rest of the bunch. Old Baldy was

cute. He hid in a bunch of pinyons an' stood quiet so his bell wouldn't ring. I had to trail him."

"If they keep jumpin' all night they can cover some territory. We're now on the edge of the wild horse

country, and our nags know this as well as we. They smell the mustangs, an' would break their necks to get

away. Satan and the sorrel were ten miles from camp when I found them this mornin'. An' Jim's cayuse went

farther, an' we never will get him. He'll wear his hobbles out, then away with the wild horses. Once with

On the sixth day of our stay at Oak we had visitors, whom Frank introduced as the Stewart brothers and

Lawson, wildhorse wranglers. They were still, dark men, whose facial expression seldom varied; tall and

lithe and wiry as the mustangs they rode. The Stewarts were on their way to Kanab, Utah, to arrange for the

sale of a drove of horses they had captured and corraled in a narrow canyon back in the Siwash. Lawson said

"Wal, there's a cougar on every deer trail," replied the elder Stewart, "An' two for every pinto in the breaks.

"We've tried more'n onct. It's a turrible busted up country, them brakes. No man knows it, an' the cougars do.

Old Tom ranges all the ridges and brakes, even up on the slopes of Buckskin; but he lives down there in them

holes, an' Lord knows, no dog I ever seen could follow him. We tracked him in the snow, an' had dogs after

him, but none could stay with him, except two as never cum back. But we've nothin' agin Old Tom like Jeff

Clarke, a hoss rustler, who has a string of pintos corraled north of us. Clarke swears he ain't raised a colt in

"If you kill him we'll make you all a present of a mustang, an' Clarke, he'll give you two each," replied

"Hard to tell. Two or three thousand, mebbe. There's almost no ketchin' them, an' they regrowin' all the time

"Seen anythin' of the White Mustang?" inquired Frank. "Ever get a rope near him?"

"No nearer'n we hev fer six years back. He can't be ketched. We seen him an' his band of blacks a few days

ago, headin' fer a waterhole down where Nail Canyon runs into Kanab Canyon. He's so cunnn' he'll never

water at any of our trap corrals. An' we believe he can go without water fer two weeks, unless mebbe he hes a

"Would we have any chance to see this White Mustang and his band?" questioned Jones.

"See him? Why, thet'd be easy. Go down Snake Gulch, camp at Singin' Cliffs, go over into Nail Canyon, an'

wait. Then send some one slippin' down to the waterhole at Kanab Canyon, an' when the band cums in to

drinkwhich I reckon will be in a few days nowhev them drive the mustangs up. Only be sure to hev

them get ahead of the White Mustang, so he'll hev only one way to cum, fer he sure is knowin'. He never

makes a mistake. Mebbe you'll get to see him cum by like a white streak. Why, I've heerd thet mustang's

hoofs ring like bells on the rocks a mile away. His hoofs are harder'n any iron shoe as was ever made. But

I learned later from Stewart that the White Mustang was a beautiful stallion of the wildest strain of mustang

blue blood. He had roamed the long reaches between the Grand Canyon and Buckskin toward its southern

slope for years; he had been the most soughtfor horse by all the wranglers, and had become so shy and

experienced that nothing but a glimpse was ever obtained of him. A singular fact was that he never attached

any of his own species to his band, unless they were coal black. He had been known to fight and kill other

stallions, but he kept out of the wellwooded and watered country frequented by other bands, and ranged the

brakes of the Siwash as far as he could range. The usual method, indeed the only successful way to capture

wild horses, was to build corrals round the waterholes. The wranglers lay out night after night watching.

When the mustangs came to drinkwhich was always after darkthe gates would be closed on them. But

the trick had never even been tried on the White Mustang, for the simple reason that he never approached one

"Boys," said Jones, "seeing we need breaking in, we'll give the White Mustang a little run."

This was most pleasurable news, for the wild horses fascinated me. Besides, I saw from the expression on our

Wallace and I had employed the last few warm sunny afternoons in riding up and down the valley, below

Oak, where there was a fine, level stretch. Here I wore out my soreness of muscle, and gradually overcame

my awkwardness in the saddle. Frank's remedy of maple sugar and red pepper had rid me of my cold, and

with the return of strength, and the coming of confidence, full, joyous appreciation of wild environment and

life made me unspeakably happy. And I noticed that my companions were in like condition of mind, though

selfcontained where I was exuberant. Wallace galloped his sorrel and watched the crags; Jones talked more

kindly to the dogs; Jim baked biscuits indefatigably, and smoked in contented silence; Frank said always:

"We'll ooze along easy like, for we've all the time there is." Which sentiment, whether from reiterated

suggestion, or increasing confidence in the practical cowboy, or charm of its free import, gradually won us

"Boys," said Jones, as we sat round the campfire, "I see you're getting in shape. Well, I've worn off the wire

edge myself. And I have the hounds coming fine. They mind me now, but they're mystified. For the life of

them they can't understand what I mean. I don't blame them. Wait till, by good luck, we get a cougar in a tree.

When Sounder and Don see that, we've lion dogs, boys! we've lion dogs! But Moze is a stubborn brute. In all

my years of animal experience, I've never discovered any other way to make animals obey than by instilling

fear and respect into their hearts. I've been fond of buffalo, horses and dogs, but sentiment never ruled me.

When animals must obey, they mustthat's all, and no mawkishness! But I never trusted a buffalo in my

life. If I had I wouldn't be here tonight. You all know how many keepers of tame wild animals get killed. I

could tell you dozens of tragedies. And I've often thought, since I got back from New York, of that woman I

saw with her troop of African lions. I dream about those lions, and see them leaping over her head. What a

grand sight that was! But the public is fooled. I read somewhere that she trained those lions by love. I don't

believe it. I saw her use a whip and a steel spear. Moreover, I saw many things that escaped most

observershow she entered the cage, how she maneuvered among them, how she kept a compelling gaze on

them! It was an admirable, a great piece of work. Maybe she loves those huge yellow brutes, but her life was

in danger every moment while she was in that cage, and she knew it. Some day, one of her pets likely the

King of Beasts she pets the most will rise up and kill her. That is as certain as death."

For thirty miles down Nail Canyon we marked, in every dusty trail and sandy wash, the small, oval, sharply

The canyon had been well named. It was long, straight and square sided; its bare walls glared steelgray in

the sun, smooth, glistening surfaces that had been polished by wind and water. No weathered heaps of shale,

no crumbled piles of stone obstructed its level floor. And, softly toning its drab austerity, here grew the white

sage, waving in the breeze, the Indian Paint Brush, with vivid vermilion flower, and patches of fresh, green

"The White King, as we Arizona wildhoss wranglers calls this mustang, is mighty pertickler about his feed,

an' he ranged along here last night, easy like, browsin' on this white sage," said Stewart. Inflected by our

intense interest in the famous mustang, and ruffled slightly by Jones's manifest surprise and contempt that no

one had captured him, Stewart had volunteered to guide us. "Never knowed him to run in this way fer water;

fact is, never knowed Nail Canyon had a fork. It splits down here, but you'd think it was only a crack in the

wall. An' thet cunnin' mustang hes been foolin' us fer years about this waterhole."

The fork of Nail Canyon, which Stewart had decided we were in, had been accidentally discovered by Frank,

who, in search of our horses one morning had crossed a ridge, to come suddenly upon the blind, boxlike

head of the canyon. Stewart knew the lay of the ridges and run of the canyons as well as any man could know

a country where, seemingly, every rod was ridged and bisected, and he was of the opinion that we had

stumbled upon one of the White Mustang's secret passages, by which he had so often eluded his pursuers.

Hard riding had been the order of the day, but still we covered ten more miles by sundown. The canyon

apparently closed in on us, so camp was made for the night. The horses were staked out, and supper made

ready while the shadows were dropping; and when darkness settled thick over us, we lay under our blankets.

Morning disclosed the White Mustang's secret passage. It was a narrow cleft, splitting the canyon wall,

rough, uneven, tortuous and choked with fallen rocksno more than a wonderful crack in solid stone,

opening into another canyon. Above us the sky seemed a winding, flowing stream of blue. The walls were so

close in places that a horse with pack would have been blocked, and a rider had to pull his legs up over the

saddle. On the far side, the passage fell very suddenly for several hundred feet to the floor of the other

"This is Grand Canyon country, an' nobody knows what he's goin' to find," was Frank's comment.

"Now we're in Nail Canyon proper," said Stewart; "An' I know my bearin's. I can climb out a mile below an'

cut across to Kanab Canyon, an' slip up into Nail Canyon agin, ahead of the mustangs, an' drive 'em up. I

can't miss 'em, fer Kanab Canyon is impassable down a little ways. The mustangs will hev to run this way. So

all you need do is go below the break, where I climb out, an' wait. You're sure goin' to get a look at the White

Mustang. But wait. Don't expect him before noon, an' after thet, any time till he comes. Mebbe it'll be a

Then taking our man Lawson, with blankets and a knapsack of food, Stewart rode off down the canyon.

We were early on the march. As we proceeded the canyon lost its regularity and smoothness; it became

crooked as a rail fence, narrower, higher, rugged and broken. Pinnacled cliffs, cracked and leaning, menaced

It seemed that Jones, after much survey of different corners, angles and points in the canyon floor, chose his

position with much greater care than appeared necessary for the ultimate success of our venturewhich was

simply to see the White Mustang, and if good fortune attended us, to snap some photographs of this wild king

of horses. It flashed over me that, with his ruling passion strong within him, our leader was laying some kind

Wallace, Frank and Jim were stationed at a point below the break where Stewart had evidently gone up and

out. How a horse could have climbed that streaky white slide was a mystery. Jones's instructions to the men

were to wait until the mustangs were close upon them, and then yell and shout and show themselves.

He took me to a jutting corner of cliff, which hid us from the others, and here he exercised still more care in

scrutinizing the lay of the ground. A wash from ten to fifteen feet wide, and as deep, ran through the canyon

in a somewhat meandering course. At the corner which consumed so much of his attention, the dry ditch ran

along the cliff wall about fifty feet out; between it and the wall was good level ground, on the other side huge

rocks and shale made it hummocky, practically impassable for a horse. It was plain the mustangs, on their

way up, would choose the inside of the wash; and here in the middle of the passage, just round the jutting

corner, Jones tied our horses to good, strong bushes. His next act was significant. He threw out his lasso and,

dragging every crook out of it, carefully recoiled it, and hung it loose over the pommel of his saddle.

"The White Mustang may be yours before dark," he said with the smile that came so seldom. "Now I placed

our horses there for two reasons. The mustangs won't see them till they're right on them. Then you'll see a

sight and have a chance for a great picture. They will halt; the stallion will prance, whistle and snort for a

fight, and then they'll see the saddles and be off. We'll hide across the wash, down a little way, and at the

By piling sagebrush round a stone, we made a hidingplace. Jones was extremely cautious to arrange the

bunches in natural positions. "A Rocky Mountain Big Horn is the only fourfooted beast," he said, "that has a

better eye than a wild horse. A cougar has an eye, too; he's used to lying high up on the cliffs and looking

down for his quarry so as to stalk it at night; but even a cougar has to take second to a mustang when it comes

The hours passed slowly. The sun baked us; the stones were too hot to touch; flies buzzed behind our ears;

At dark we returned to where we had left Wallace and the cowboys. Frank had solved the problem of water

supply, for he had found a little spring trickling from a cliff, which, by skillful management, produced

"You take the first watch tonight," said Jones to me after supper. "The mustangs might try to slip by our fire

in the night and we must keep a watch or them. Call Wallace when your time's up. Now, fellows, roll in."

When the pink of dawn was shading white, we were at our posts. A long, hot dayinterminably long,

deadening to the keenest interestpassed, and still no mustangs came. We slept and watched again, in the

The hours passed; the cool breeze changed to hot; the sun blazed over the canyon wall; the stones scorched;

the flies buzzed. I fell asleep in the scant shade of the sage bushes and awoke, stifled and moist. The old

plainsman, never weary, leaned with his back against a stone and watched, with narrow gaze, the canyon

below. The steely walls hurt my eyes; the sky was like hot copper. Though nearly wild with heat and aching

bones and muscles and the long hours of waitwaitwait, I was ashamed to complain, for there sat the old

man, still and silent. I routed out a hairy tarantula from under a stone and teased him into a frenzy with my

stick, and tried to get up a fight between him and a scallopbacked hornedtoad that blinked wonderingly at

me. Then I espied a green lizard on a stone. The beautiful reptile was about a foot in length, bright green,

dotted with red, and he had diamonds for eyes. Nearby a purple flower blossomed, delicate and pale, with a

bee sucking at its golden heart. I observed then that the lizard had his jewel eyes upon the bee; he slipped to

the edge of the stone, flicked out a long, red tongue, and tore the insect from its honeyed perch. Here were

beauty, life and death; and I had been weary for something to look at, to think about, to distract me from the

"Listen!" broke in Jones's sharp voice. His neck was stretched, his eyes were closed, his ear was turned to the

With thrilling, reawakened eagerness, I strained my hearing. I caught a faint sound, then lost it.

"Put your ear to the ground," said Jones. I followed his advice, and detected the rhythmic beat of galloping

In the first bend of the canyon below, a splintered ruin of rock now lay under a rolling cloud of dust. A white

flash appeared, a line of bobbing black objects, and more dust; then with a sharp pounding of hoofs, into clear

vision shot a dense black band of mustangs, and well in front swung the White King.

"Look! Look! I never saw the beat of thatnever in my born days!" cried Jones. "How they move! yet that

white fellow isn't halfstretched out. Get your picture before they pass. You'll never see the beat of that."

With long manes and tails flying, the mustangs came on apace and passed us in a trampling roar, the white

stallion in the front. Suddenly a shrill, whistling blast, unlike any sound I had ever heard, made the canyon

fairly ring. The white stallion plunged back, and his band closed in behind him. He had seen our saddle

horses. Then trembling, whinnying, and with arched neck and high poised head, bespeaking his mettle, he

advanced a few paces, and again whistled his shrill note of defiance. Pure creamy white he was, and built like

a racer. He pranced, struck his hoofs hard and cavorted; then, taking sudden fright, he wheeled.

It was then, when the mustangs were pivoting, with the white in the lead, that Jones jumped upon the stone,

fired his pistol and roared with all his strength. Taking his cue, I did likewise. The band huddled back again,

Jones jumped the ditch with surprising agility, and I followed close at his heels. When we reached our

plunging horses, he shouted: "Mount, and hold this passage. Keep close in by that big stone at the turn so

they can't run you down, or stampede you. If they head your way, scare them back."

Satan quivered, and when I mounted, reared and plunged. I had to hold him in hard, for he was eager to run.

At the cliff wall I was at some pains to check him. He kept champing his bit and stamping his feet.

From my post I could see the mustangs flying before a cloud of dust. Jones was turning in his horse behind a

large rock in the middle of the canyon, where he evidently intended to hide. Presently successive yells and

shots from our comrades blended in a roar which the narrow boxcanyon augmented and echoed from wall to

wall. High the White Mustang reared, and above the roar whistled his snort of furious terror. His band

The crafty old buffalohunter had hemmed the mustangs in a circle and had left himself free in the center. It

The stallion, closely crowded by his followers, moved swiftly I saw that he must pass near the stone.

Thundering, crashing, the horses came on. Away beyond them I saw Frank and Wallace. Then Jones yelled to

I turned Satan into the middle of the narrow passage, screaming at the top of my voice and discharging my

But the wild horses thundered on. Jones saw that they would not now be balked, and he spurred his bay

directly in their path. The big horse, courageous as his intrepid master, dove forward.

Then followed confusion for me. The pound of hoofs, the snorts, a screaming neigh that was frightful, the

mad stampede of the mustangs with a whirling cloud of dust, bewildered and frightened me so that I lost sight

of Jones. Danger threatened and passed me almost before I was aware of it. Out of the dust a mass of tossing

manes, foamflecked black horses, wild eyes and lifting hoofs rushed at me. Satan, with a presence of mind

that shamed mine, leaped back and hugged the wall. My eyes were blinded by dust; the smell of dust choked

me. I felt a strong rush of wind and a mustang grazed my stirrup. Then they had passed, on the wings of the

But not all, for I saw that Jones had, in some inexplicable manner, cut the White Mustang and two of his

blacks out of the band. He had turned them back again and was pursuing them. The bay he rode had never

before appeared to much advantage, and now, with his long, lean, powerful body in splendid action, imbued

with the relentless will of his rider, what a picture he presented! How he did run! With all that, the White

Mustang made him look dingy and slow. Nevertheless, it was a critical time in the wild career of that king of

horses. He had been penned in a space two hundred by five hundred yards, half of which was separated from

him by a wide ditch, a yawning chasm that he had refused, and behind him, always keeping on the inside,

wheeled the yelling hunter, who savagely spurred his bay and whirled a deadly lasso. He had been cut off and

surrounded; the very nature of the rocks and trails of the canyon threatened to end his freedom or his life.

Certain it was he preferred to end the latter, for he risked death from the rocks as he went over them in long

Jones could have roped either of the two blacks, but he hardly noticed them. Covered with dust and splotches

of foam, they took their advantage, turned on the circle toward the passage way and galloped by me out of

sight. Again Wallace, Frank and Jim let out strings of yells and volleys. The chase was narrowing down.

Trapped, the White Mustang King had no chance. What a grand spirit he showed! Frenzied as I was with

excitement, the thought occurred to me that this was an unfair battle, that I ought to stand aside and let him

pass. But the blood and lust of primitive instinct held me fast. Jones, keeping back, met his every turn. Yet

always with lithe and beautiful stride the stallion kept out of reach of the whirling lariat.

"Close in!" yelled Jones, and his voice, powerful with a note of triumph, bespoke the knell of the king's

The trap closed in. Back and forth at the upper end the White Mustang worked; then rendered desperate by

the closing in, he circled round nearer to me. Fire shone in his wild eyes. The wily Jones was not to be

outwitted; he kept in the middle, always on the move, and he yelled to me to open up.

I lost my voice again, and fired my last shot. Then the White Mustang burst into a dash of daring, despairing

speed. It was his last magnificent effort. Straight for the wash at the upper end he pointed his racy, spirited

head, and his white legs stretched far apart, twinkled and stretched again. Jones galloped to cut him off, and

the yells he emitted were demoniacal. It was a long, straight race for the mustang, a short curve for the bay.

That the white stallion gained was as sure as his resolve to elude capture, and he never swerved a foot from

his course. Jones might have headed him, but manifestly he wanted to ride with him, as well as to meet him,

Up went Jones's arm as the space shortened, and the lasso ringed his head. Out it shot, lengthened like a

The White Mustang, fulfilling his purpose in a last heroic display of power, sailed into the air, up and up, and

over the wide wash like a white streak. Free! the dust rolled in a cloud from under his hoofs, and he vanished.

Jones's superb horse, crashing down on his haunches, just escaped sliding into the hole.

I awoke to the realization that Satan had carried me, in pursuit of the thrilling chase, all the way across the

Jones calmly wiped the sweat from his face, calmly coiled his lasso, and calmly remarked:

"In trying to capture wild animals a man must never be too sure. Now what I thought my strong point was my

Not far from the scene of our adventure with the White Streak as we facetious and appreciatively named the

mustang, deep, flat cave indented the canyon wall. By reason of its sandy floor and close proximity to Frank's

trickling spring, we decided to camp in it. About dawn Lawson and Stewart straggled in on spent horse and

It was after Frank, in his plain, blunt speech had told of our experience, that the long Arizonian gazed fixedly

In all his days Jones never had a greater complement. By way of reply, he moved his big hand to button of his

coat, and, fumbling over it, unwound a string of long, white hairs, then said: "I pulled these out of his tail

There were six of the hairs, pure, glistening white, and over three feet long. Stewart examined then in

expressive silence, then passed them along; and when they reached me, they stayed.

The cave, lighted up by a blazing fire, appeared to me a forbidding, uncanny place. Small, peculiar round

holes, and dark cracks, suggestive of hidden vermin, gave me a creepy feeling; and although not

"Say, I don't like the idea of sleeping in this hole. I'll bet it's full of spiders, snakes and centipedes and other

Whatever there was in my inoffensive declaration to rouse the usually slumbering humor of the Arizonians,

and the thinly veiled ridicule of Colonel Jones, and a mixture of both in my once loyal California friend, I am

not prepared to state. Maybe it was the dry, sweet, cool air of Nail Canyon; maybe my suggestion awoke

ticklish associations that worked themselves off thus; maybe it was the first instance of my committing

myself to a breach of camp etiquette. Be that as it may, my innocently expressed sentiment gave rise to

bewildering dissertations on entomology, and most remarkable and startling tales from firsthand experience.

"Like as not," began Frank in matteroffact tone. "Them's tarantuler holes all right. An' scorpions,

centipedes an' rattlers always rustle with tarantulers. But we never mind themnot us fellers! We're used to

sleepin' with them. Why, I often wake up in the night to see a big tarantuler on my chest, an' see him wink.

"Reminds me how fatal the bite of a centipede is," took up Colonel Jones, complacently. "Once I was sitting

in camp with a hunter, who suddenly hissed out: 'Jones, for God's sake don't budge! There's a centipede on

your arm!' He pulled his Colt, and shot the blamed centipede off as clean as a whistle. But the bullet hit a

steer in the leg; and would you believe it, the bullet carried so much poison that in less than two hours the

steer died of blood poisoning. Centipedes are so poisonous they leave a blue trail on flesh just by crawling

He bared his arm, and there on the browncorded flesh was a blue trail of something, that was certain. It

"This is a likely place for them," put in Wallace, emitting a volume of smoke and gazing round the cave walls

with the eye of a connoisseur. "My archaeological pursuits have given me great experience with centipedes,

as you may imagine, considering how many old tombs, caves and cliffdwellings I have explored. This

Algonkian rock is about the right stratum for centipedes to dig in. They dig somewhat after the manner of the

fluviatile long tailed decapod crustaceans, of the genera Thoracostraca, the common crawfish, you know.

From that, of course, you can imagine, if a centipede can bite rock, what a biter he is."

I began to grow weak, and did not wonder to see Jim's long pipe fall from his lips. Frank looked queer around

"I camped here two years ago," he said, "An' the cave was alive with rockrats, mice, snakes, hornedtoads,

lizards an' a big Gila monster, besides bugs, scorpions' rattlers, an' as fer tarantulers an' centipedessay! I

"I seen the same," concluded Lawson, as nonchalant as a wildhorse wrangler well could be. "An' as fer me,

now I allus lays perfickly still when the centipedes an' tarantulers begin to drop from their holes in the roof,

same as them holes up there. An' when they light on me, I never move, nor even breathe fer about five

minutes. Then they take a notion I'm dead an' crawl off. But sure, if I'd breathed I'd been a goner!"

All of this was playfully intended for the extinction of an unoffending and impressionable tenderfoot.

With an admiring glance at my tormentors, I rolled out my sleepingbag and crawled into it, vowing I would

Late in the night I awoke. The bottom of the canyon and the outer floor of our cave lay bathed in white, clear

moonlight. A dense, gloomy black shadow veiled the opposite canyon wall. High up the pinnacles and turrets

pointed toward a resplendent moon. It was a weird, wonderful scene of beauty entrancing, of breathless,

dreaming silence that seemed not of life. Then a hootowl lamented dismally, his call fitting the scene and

the dead stillness; the echoes resounded from cliff to cliff, strangely mocking and hollow, at last

How long I lay there enraptured with the beauty of light and mystery of shade, thrilling at the lonesome

lament of the owl, I have no means to tell; but I was awakened from my trance by the touch of something

crawling over me. Promptly I raised my head. The cave was as light as day. There, sitting sociably on my

For one still moment, notwithstanding my contempt for Lawson's advice, I certainly acted upon it to the

letter. If ever I was quiet, and if ever I was cold, the time was then. My companions snored in blissful

ignorance of my plight. Slight rustling sounds attracted my wary gaze from the old black sentinel on my

knee. I saw other black spiders running to and fro on the silver, sandy floor. A giant, as large as a softshell

crab, seemed to be meditating an assault upon Jones's ear. Another, grizzled and shiny with age or

moonbeams I could not tell whichpushed long, tentative feelers into Wallace's cap. I saw black spots

Not improbably my strong impression that the spider on my knee deliberately winked at me was the result of

memory, enlivening imagination. But it sufficed to bring to mind, in one rapid, consoling flash, the

I slipped back into my sleepingbag, with a keen consciousness of its nature, and carefully pulled the flap in

Wondering cries gave me glad assurance that they had awakened from their dreams.

Memory stamped indelibly every word of that incident; but innate delicatly prevents the repetition of all save

the old warrior's concluding remarks: "! ! ! place I was ever in! Tarantulas by the millioncentipedes,

scorpions, bats! Rattlesnakes, too, I'll swear. Look out, Wallace! there, under your blanket!"

From the shuffling sounds which wafted sweetly into my bed, I gathered that my long friend from California

must have gone through motions creditable to a contortionist. An ensuing explosion from Jones proclaimed to

the listening world that Wallace had thrown a tarantula upon him. Further fearful language suggested the

thought that Colonel Jones had passed on the inquisitive spider to Frank. The reception accorded the

unfortunate tarantula, no doubt scared out of its wits, began with a wild yell from Frank and ended in

While the confusion kept up, with whacks and blows and threshing about, with language such as never before

had disgraced a group of old campers, I choked with rapture, and reveled in the sweetness of revenge.

When quiet reigned once more in the black and white canyon, only one sleeper lay on the moonsilvered

At dawn, when I opened sleepy eyes, Frank, Slim, Stewart and Lawson had departed, as prearranged, with

the outfit, leaving the horses belonging to us and rations for the day. Wallace and I wanted to climb the divide

at the break, and go home by way of Snake Gulch, and the Colonel acquiesced with the remark that his

sixtythree years had taught him there was much to see in the world. Coming to undertake it, we found the

climbexcept for a slide of weathered rockno great task, and we accomplished it in half an hour, with

But descending into Snake Gulch, which was only a mile across the sparsely cedared ridge, proved to be

tedious labor. By virtue of Satan's patience and skill, I forged ahead; which advantage, however, meant more

risk for me because of the stones set in motion above. They rolled and bumped and cut into me, and I

sustained many a bruise trying to protect the sinewy slender legs of my horse. The descent ended without

Snake Gulch had a character and sublimity which cast Nail Canyon into the obscurity of forgetfulness. The

great contrast lay in the diversity of structure. The rock was bright red, with parapet of yellow, that leaned,

heaved, bulged outward. These emblazoned cliff walls, two thousand feet high, were cracked from turret to

base; they bowled out at such an angle that we were afraid to ride under them. Mountains of yellow rock

hung balanced, ready to tumble down at the first angry breath of the gods. We rode among carved stones,

pillars, obelisks and sculptured ruined walls of a fallen Babylon. Slides reaching all the way across and far up

the canyon wall obstructed our passage. On every stone silent green lizards sunned themselves, gliding

We came into a region of windworn caves, of all sizes and shapes, high and low on the cliffs; but strange to

say, only on the north side of the canyon they appeared with dark mouths open and uninviting. One, vast and

deep, though far off, menaced us as might the cave of a tawnymaned king of beasts; yet it impelled,

"Boys, I'm with you," came the reply. And he was with us all the way, as we clambered over the immense

blocks and threaded a passage between them and pulled weary legs up, one after the other. So steep lay the

jumble of cliff fragments that we lost sight of the cave long before we got near it. Suddenly we rounded a

The dark portal of death or hell might have yawned there. A gloomy hole, large enough to admit a church,

Forever the one absorbing interest! If he realized the sublimity of this place, he did not show it.

The floor of the cave ascended from the very threshold. Stony ridges circled from wall to wall. We climbed

till we were two hundred feet from the opening, yet we were not halfway to the dome.

Our horses, browsing in the sage far below, looked like ants. So steep did the ascent become that we desisted;

for if one of us had slipped on the smooth incline, the result would have been terrible. Our voices rang clear

and hollow from the walls. We were so high that the sky was blotted out by the overhanging square,

cornicelike top of the door; and the light was weird, dim, shadowy, opaque. It was a gray tomb.

Thousands of devilish voices rushed at us, seemingly on puffs of wind. Mocking, deep echoes bellowed from

the ebon shades at the back of the cave, and the walls, taking them up, hurled them on again in fiendish

We did not again break the silence of that tomb, where the spirits of ages lay in dusty shrouds; and we

crawled down as if we had invaded a sanctuary and invoked the wrath of the gods.

We all proposed names: Montezuma's Amphitheater being the only rival of Jones's selection, Echo cave,

Mounting our horses again, we made twenty miles of Snake Gulch by noon, when we rested for lunch. All

the way up we had played the boy's game of spying for sights, with the honors about even. It was a question

if Snake Gulch ever before had such a raking over. Despite its name, however, we discovered no snakes.

From the sandy niche of a cliff where we lunched Wallace espied a tomb, and heralded his discovery with a

victorious whoop. Digging in old ruins roused in him much the same spirit that digging in old books roused

in me. Before we reached him, he had a big bowieknife buried deep in the red, sandy floor of the tomb.

This onetime sealed house of the dead had been constructed of small stones, held together by a cement, the

nature of which, Wallace explained, had never become clear to civilization. It was red in color and hard as

flint, harder than the rocks it glued together. The tomb was halfround in shape, and its floor was a projecting

shelf of cliff rock. Wallace unearthed bits of pottery, bone and finely braided rope, all of which, to our great

disappointment, crumbled to dust in our fingers. In the case of the rope, Wallace assured us, this was a sign of

In the next mile we traversed, we found dozens of these old cells, all demolished except a few feet of the

walls, all despoiled of their onetime possessions. Wallace thought these depredations were due to Indians of

our own time. Suddenly we came upon Jones, standing under a cliff, with his neck craned to a desperate

High on the cliff wall appeared a small, round protuberance. It was of the unmistakably red color of the other

tombs; and Wallace, more excited than he had been in the cougar chase, said it was a sepulcher, and he

From an elevated point of rock, as high up as I could well climb, I decided both questions with my glass. The

tomb resembled nothing so much as a mudwasp's nest, high on a barn wall. The fact that it had never been

"This is no mean discovery, let me tell you that," he declared. "I am familiar with the Aztec, Toltec and

Pueblo ruins, and here I find no similarity. Besides, we are out of their latitude. An ancient race of

peoplevery ancient indeed lived in this canyon. How long ago, it is impossible to tell."

"They must have been birds," said the practical Jones. "Now, how'd that tomb ever get there? Look at it, will

As near as we could ascertain, it was three hundred feet from the ground below, five hundred from the rim

wall above, and could not possibly have been approached from the top. Moreover, the cliff wall was as

"Yes, and I see another; no doubt there are many of them," replied Wallace. "In my mind, only one thing

possible accounts for their position. You observe they appear to be about level with each other. Well, once

the Canyon floor ran along that line, and in the ages gone by it has lowered, washed away by the rains."

This conception staggered us, but it was the only one conceivable. No doubt we all thought at the same time

"Years! What are years?" said Wallace. "Thousands of years, ages have passed since the race who built these

Some persuasion was necessary to drag our scientific friend from the spot, where obviously helpless to do

anything else, he stood and gazed longingly at the isolated tombs. The canyon widened as we proceeded; and

hundreds of points that invited inspection, such as overhanging shelves of rock, dark fissures, caverns and

Still, a more interesting and important discovery was to come, and the pleasure and honor of it fell to me. My

eyes were sharp and peculiarly farsightedthe Indian sight, Jones assured me; and I kept them searching the

walls in such places as my companions overlooked. Presently, under a large, bulging bluff, I saw a dark spot,

which took the shape of a figure. This figure, I recollected, had been presented to my sight more than once,

and now it stopped me. The hard climb up the slippery stones was fatiguing, but I did not hesitate, for I was

determined to know. Once upon the ledge, I let out a yell that quickly set my companions in my direction.

The figure I had seen was a dark, red devil, a painted image, rude, unspeakably wild, crudely executed, but

painted by the hand of man. The whole surface of the cliff wall bore figures of all shapesmen, mammals,

birds and strange devices, some in red paint, mostly in yellow. Some showed the wear of time; others were

Wallace puffed up to me, but he had wind enough left for another whoop. Jones puffed up also, and seeing

the first thing a rude sketch of what might have been a deer or a buffalo, he commented thus: "Darn me if I

ever saw an animal like that? Boys, this is a find, sure as you're born. Because not even the Piutes ever spoke

of these figures. I doubt if they know they're here. And the cowboys and wranglers, what few ever get by here

in a hundred years, never saw these things. Beats anything I ever saw on the Mackenzie, or anywhere else."

The meaning of some devices was as mystical as that of others was clear. Two bloodred figures of men, the

larger dragging the smaller by the hair, while he waved aloft a bloodred hatchet or club, left little to

conjecture. Here was the old battle of men, as old as life. Another group, two figures of which resembled the

foregoing in form and action, battling over a prostrate form rudely feminine in outline, attested to an age

when men were as susceptible as they are in modern times, but more forceful and original. An odd yellow

Indian waved aloft a red hand, which striking picture suggested the idea that he was an ancient Macbeth,

listening to the knocking at the gate. There was a character representing a great chief, before whom many

figures lay prostrate, evidently slain or subjugated. Large red paintings, in the shape of bats, occupied

prominent positions, and must have represented gods or devils. Armies of marching men told of that blight of

nations old or youngwar. These, and birds unnamable, and beasts unclassable, with dots and marks and

hieroglyphics, recorded the history of a bygone people. Symbols they were of an era that had gone into the

dim past, leaving only these marks, {Symbols recording the history of a bygone people.} forever

unintelligible; yet while they stood, century after century, ineffaceable, reminders of the glory, the mystery,

"How could paint of any kind last so long? asked Jones, shaking his head doubtfully.

"That is the unsolvable mystery," returned Wallace. "But the records are there. I am absolutely sure the

paintings are at least a thousand years old. I have never seen any tombs or paintings similar to them. Snake

Sundown caught us within sight of Oak Spring, and we soon trotted into camp to the welcoming chorus of the

hounds. Frank and the others had reached the cabin some hours before. Supper was steaming on the hot coals

Then came the pleasantest time of the day, after a long chase or jauntthe silent moments, watching the

glowing embers of the fire; the speaking moments when a redblooded story rang clear and true; the twilight

Jones seemed unusually thoughtful. I had learned that this preoccupation in him meant the stirring of old

associations, and I waited silently. By and by Lawson snored mildly in a corner; Jim and Frank crawled into

their blankets, and all was still. Walllace smoked his Indian pipe and hunted in firelit dreams.

"Boys," said our leader finally, "somehow the echoes dying away in that cave reminded me of the mourn of

Wallace puffed huge clouds of white smoke, and I waited, knowing that I was to hear at last the story of the

It was a waiting day at Fort Chippewayan. The lonesome, farnorthern Hudson's Bay Trading Post seldom

saw such life. Tepees dotted the banks of the Slave River and lines of blanketed Indians paraded its shores.

Near the boat landing a group of chiefs, grotesque in semibarbaric, semicivilized splendor, but

blackbrowed, austereeyed, stood in savage dignity with folded arms and highheld heads. Lounging on the

All eyes were on the distant curve of the river where, as it lost itself in a finefringed bend of dark green,

whiteglinting waves danced and fluttered. A June sky lay blue in the majestic stream; ragged, speartopped,

dense green trees massed down to the water; beyond rose bold, baldknobbed hills, in remote purple relief.

A long Indian arm stretched south. The waiting eyes discerned a black speck on the green, and watched it

Not a red hand, nor a white one, offered to help the voyager in the difficult landing. The oblong, clumsy,

heavily laden boat surged with the current and passed the dock despite the boatman's efforts. He swung his

craft in below upon a bar and roped it fast to a tree. The Indians crowded above him on the bank. The

boatman raised his powerful form erect, lifted a bronzed face which seemed set in craggy hardness, and cast

from narrow eyes a keen, cool glance on those above. The silvery gleam in his fair hair told of years.

Silence, impressive as it was ominous, broke only to the rattle of camping paraphernalia, which the voyager

threw to a level, grassy bench on the bank. Evidently this unwelcome visitor had journeyed from afar, and his

boat, sunk deep into the water with its load of barrels, boxes and bags, indicated that the journey had only

begun. Significant, too, were a couple of long Winchester rifles shining on a tarpaulin.

The coldfaced crowd stirred and parted to permit the passage of a tall, thin, gray personage of official

The boatman greeted this peremptory interlocutor with a cool laugha strange laugh, in which the muscles

"The chiefs of the Chippewayan and Great Slave tribes have been apprised of your coming. They have held

At a motion from the commandant, the line of chieftains piled down to the level bench and formed a

halfcircle before the voyager. To a man who had stood before grim Sitting Bull and noble Black Thunder of

the Sioux, and faced the falconeyed Geronimo, and glanced over the sights of a rifle at gorgeousfeathered,

wild, free Comanches, this semicircle of savageslords of the northwas a sorry comparison. Bedaubed

and betrinketed, slouchy and slovenly, these lowstatured chiefs belied in appearance their scornbright eyes

One who spoke in unintelligible language, rolled out a haughty, sonorous voice over the listening multitude.

When he had finished, a halfbreed interpreter, in the dress of a white man, spoke at a signal from the

"He says listen to the great orator of the Chippewayan. He has summoned all the chiefs of the tribes south of

Great Slave Lake. He has held council. The cunning of the paleface, who comes to take the muskoxen, is

well known. Let the paleface hunter return to his own huntinggrounds; let him turn his face from the north.

Never will the chiefs permit the white man to take muskoxen alive from their country. The Ageter, the

Muskox, is their god. He gives them food and fur. He will never come back if he is taken away, and the

reindeer will follow him. The chiefs and their people would starve. They command the paleface hunter to go

"Say, for a thousand miles I've heard that word Naza!" returned the hunter, with mingled curiosity and

disgust. "At Edmonton Indian runners started ahead of me, and every village I struck the redskins would

crowd round me and an old chief would harangue at me, and motion me back, and point north with Naza!

"No white man knows; no Indian will tell," answered the interpreter. "The traders think it means the Great

Slave, the North Star, the North Spirit, the North Wind, the North Lights and the muskox god."

"Well, say to the chiefs to tell Ageter I have been four moons on the way after some of his little Ageters, and

"Hunter, you are most unwise," broke in the commandant, in his officious voice. "The Indians will never

permit you to take a muskox alive from the north. They worship him, pray to him. It is a wonder you have

"Faugh! to tell an American plainsman that!" The hunter paused a steady moment, with his eyelids narrowing

over slits of blue fire. "There is no law to keep me out, nothing but Indian superstition and Naza! And the

greed of the Hudson's Bay people. I am an old fox, not to be fooled by pretty baits. For years the officers of

this furtrading company have tried to keep out explorers. Even Sir John Franklin, an Englishman, could not

buy food of them. The policy of the company is to side with the Indians, to keep out traders and trappers.

Why? So they can keep on cheating the poor savages out of clothing and food by trading a few trinkets and

blankets, a little tobacco and rum for millions of dollars worth of furs. Have I failed to hire man after man,

Indian after Indian, not to know why I cannot get a helper? Have I, a plainsman, come a thousand miles alone

to be scared by you, or a lot of craven Indians? Have I been dreaming of muskoxen for forty years, to slink

Deliberately every chief, with the sound of a hissing snake, spat in the hunter's face. He stood immovable

while they perpetrated the outrage, then calmly wiped his cheeks, and in his strange, cool voice, addressed the

"Tell them thus they show their true qualities, to insult in council. Tell them they are not chiefs, but dogs. Tell

them they are not even squaws, only poor, miserable starved dogs. Tell them I turn my back on them. Tell

them the paleface has fought real chiefs, fierce, bold, like eagles, and he turns his back on dogs. Tell them he

is the one who could teach them to raise the muskoxen and the reindeer, and to keep out the cold and the

True to his word, the hunter turned his back on them. As he brushed by, his eye caught a gaunt savage

slipping from the boat. At the hunter's stern call, the Indian leaped ashore, and started to run. He had stolen a

parcel, and would have succeeded in eluding its owner but for an unforeseen obstacle, as striking as it was

A white man of colossal stature had stepped in the thief's passage, and laid two great hands on him. Instantly

the parcel flew from the Indian, and he spun in the air to fall into the river with a sounding splash. Yells

signaled the surprise and alarm caused by this unexpected incident. The Indian frantically swam to the shore.

Whereupon the champion of the stranger in a strange land lifted a bag, which gave forth a musical clink of

steel, and throwing it with the camp articles on the grassy bench, he extended a huge, friendly hand.

"Mine is Jones," replied the hunter, and right quickly did he grip the proffered hand. He saw in Rea a giant, of

whom he was but a stunted shadow. Six and onehalf feet Rea stood, with yardwide shoulders, a hulk of

bone and brawn. His ponderous, shaggy head rested on a bull neck. His broad face, with its low forehead, its

closeshut mastiff under jaw, its big, opaque eyes, pale and cruel as those of a jaguar, marked him a man of

"Freetrader!" called the commandant "Better think twice before you join fortunes with the muskox hunter."

"To hell with you an' your rantin', dogeared redskins!" cried Rea. "I've run agin a man of my own kind, a

With this he thrust aside some encroaching, gaping Indians so unconcernedly and ungently that they sprawled

Jones realized that by some lateturning stroke of fortune, he had fallen in with one of the few freetraders of

the province. These freetraders, from the very nature of their calling, which was to defy the fur company,

and to trap and trade on their own accountwere a hardy and intrepid class of men. Rea's worth to Jones

exceeded that of a dozen ordinary men. He knew the ways of the north, the language of the tribes, the habits

of animals, the handling of dogs, the uses of food and fuel. Moreover, it soon appeared that he was a

"There's my kit," he said, dumping the contents of his bag. It consisted of a bunch of steel traps, some tools, a

broken ax, a box of miscellaneous things such as trappers used, and a few articles of flannel. "Thievin'

redskins," he added, in explanation of his poverty. "Not much of an outfit. But I'm the man for you. Besides, I

had a pal onct who knew you on the plains, called you 'Buff' Jones. Old Jim Bent he was."

"I recollect Jim," said Jones. "He went down in Custer's last charge. So you were Jim's pal. That'd be a

recommendation if you needed one. But the way you chucked the Indian overboard got me."

Rea soon manifested himself as a man of few words and much action. With the planks Jones had on board he

heightened the stern and bow of the boat to keep out the beating waves in the rapids; he fashioned a

steeringgear and a less awkward set of oars, and shifted the cargo so as to make more room in the craft.

"Buff, we're in for a storm. Set up a tarpaulin an' make a fire. We'll pretend to camp tonight. These Indians

won't dream we'd try to run the river after dark, and we'll slip by under cover."

The sun glazed over; clouds moved up from the north; a cold wind swept the tips of the spruces, and rain

commenced to drive in gusts. By the time it was dark not an Indian showed himself. They were housed from

the storm. Lights twinkled in the teepees and the big log cabins of the trading company. Jones scouted round

till pitchy black night, when a freezing, pouring blast sent him back to the protection of the tarpaulin. When

he got there he found that Rea had taken it down and awaited him. "Off!" said the freetrader; and with no

more noise than a drifting feather the boat swung into the current and glided down till the twinkling fires no

By night the river, in common with all swift rivers, had a sullen voice, and murmured its hurry, its restraint,

its menace, its meaning. The two boatmen, one at the steering gear, one at the oars, faced the pelting rain

and watched the dim, dark line of trees. The craft slid noiselessly onward into the gloom.

And into Jones's ears, above the storm, poured another sound, a steady, muffled rumble, like the roll of giant

chariot wheels. It had come to be a familiar roar to him, and the only thing which, in his long life of hazard,

had ever sent the cold, prickling, tight shudder over his warm skin. Many times on the Athabasca that rumble

The rumble expanded to a roar, the roar to a boom that charged the air with heaviness, with a dreamy burr.

The whole indistinct world appeared to be moving to the lash of wind, to the sound of rain, to the roar of the

river. The boat shot down and sailed aloft, met shock on shock, breasted leaping dim white waves, and in a

hollow, unearthly blend of watery sounds, rode on and on, buffeted, tossed, pitched into a black chaos that yet

gleamed with obscure shrouds of light. Then the convulsive stream shrieked out a last defiance, changed its

course abruptly to slow down and drown the sound of rapids in muffling distance. Once more the craft swept

By midnight the storm cleared. Murky cloud split to show shining, bluewhite stars and a fitful moon, that

silvered the crests of the spruces and sometimes hid like a gleaming, blackthreaded peak behind the dark

Jones, a plainsman all his days, wonderingly watched the moonblanched water. He saw it shade and darken

under shadowy walls of granite, where it swelled with hollow song and gurgle. He heard again the faroff

rumble, faint on the night. High cliff banks appeared, walled out the mellow, light, and the river suddenly

narrowed. Yawning holes, whirlpools of a second, opened with a gurgling suck and raced with the boat.

On the craft flew. Far ahead, a long, declining plane of jumping frosted waves played dark and white with the

moonbeams. The Slave plunged to his freedom, down his riven, stonespiked bed, knowing no patient eddy,

A far cry it was from bright June at Port Chippewayan to dim October on Great Slave Lake.

Two long, laborious months Rea and Jones threaded the crooked shores of the great inland sea, to halt at the

extreme northern end, where a plunging rivulet formed the source of a river. Here they found a stone chimney

"We mustn't lose no time," said Rea. "I feel the winter in the wind. An' see how dark the days are gettin' on

"Man, we're facin' the northern night; we're in the land of the midnight sun. Soon we'll be shut in for seven

A forest of stunted spruce trees edged on the lake, and soon its dreary solitudes rang to the strokes of axes.

The trees were small and uniform in size. Black stumps protruded, here and there, from the ground, showing

work of the steel in time gone by. Jones observed that the living trees were no larger in diameter than the

They erected a fifteenfoot cabin round the stone chimney, roofed it with poles and branches of spruce and a

layer of sand. In digging near the fireplace Jones unearthed a rusty file and the head of a whisky keg, upon

"We've found the place," said Rea. "Frank built a cabin here in 1819. An' in 1833 Captain Back wintered here

when he was in search of Captain Ross of the vessel Fury. It was those explorin' parties thet cut the trees. I

seen Indian sign out there, made last winter, I reckon; but Indians never cut down no trees."

The hunters completed the cabin, piled cords of firewood outside, stowed away the kegs of dried fish and

fruits, the sacks of flour, boxes of crackers, canned meats and vegetables, sugar, salt, coffee, tobaccoall of

the cargo; then took the boat apart and carried it up the bank, which labor took them less than a week.

Jones found sleeping in the cabin, despite the fire, uncomfortably cold, because of the wide chinks between

the logs. It was hardly better than sleeping under the swaying spruces. When he essayed to stop up the crack,

a task by no means easy, considering the lack of materialRea laughed his short "Ho! Ho!" and stopped him

with the word, "Wait." Every morning the green ice extended farther out into the lake; the sun paled dim and

dimmer; the nights grew colder. On October 8th the thermometer registered several degrees below zero; it fell

"Ho! Ho!" cried Rea. "She's struck the toboggan, an' presently she'll commence to slide. Come on, Buff,

He caught up a bucket, made for their hole in the ice, rebroke a sixinch layer, the freeze of a few hours, and

filling his bucket, returned to the cabin. Jones had no inkling of the trapper's intention, and wonderingly he

By the time he had reached the cabin, a matter of some thirty or forty good paces, the water no longer

splashed from his pail, for a thin film of ice prevented. Rea stood fifteen feet from the cabin, his back to the

wind, and threw the water. Some of it froze in the air, most of it froze on the logs. The simple plan of the

trapper to incase the cabin with ice was easily divined. All day the men worked, easing only when the cabin

resembled a glistening mound. It had not a sharp corner nor a crevice. Inside it was warm and snug, and as

A slight moderation of the weather brought the snow. Such snow! A blinding white flutter of grey flakes, as

large as feathers! All day they rustle softly; all night they swirled, sweeping, seeping brushing against the

cabin. "Ho! Ho!" roared Rea. "'Tis good; let her snow, an' the reindeer will migrate. We'll have fresh meat."

The sun shone again, but not brightly. A nipping wind came down out of the frigid north and crusted the

snows. The third night following the storm, when the hunters lay snug under their blankets, a commotion

Half the night, shouting and yelling, barking dogs, hauling of sleds and cracking of driedskin tepees

murdered sleep for those in the cabin. In the morning the level plain and edge of the forest held an Indian

village. Caribou hides, strung on forked poles, constituted tentlike habitations with no distinguishable doors.

Fires smoked in the holes in the snow. Not till late in the day did any life manifest itself round the tepees, and

then a group of children, poorly clad in ragged pieces of blankets and skins, gaped at Jones. He saw their

pinched, brown faces, staring, hungry eyes, naked legs and throats, and noted particularly their dwarfish size.

When he spoke they fled precipitously a little way, then turned. He called again, and all ran except one small

lad. Jones went into the cabin and came out with a handful of sugar in square lumps.

Jones made motions to the lad, but he remained still, as if transfixed, and his black eyes stared wonderingly.

The lad came out of his trance and looked back at his companions, who edged nearer. Jones ate a lump of

sugar, then handed one to the little Indian. He took it gingerly, put it into his mouth and immediately jumped

"Hoppiesharnpoolie! Hoppiesharnpoolie!" he shouted to his brothers and sisters. They came on the run.

"Think he means sweet salt," interpreted Rea. "Of course these beggars never tasted sugar."

The band of youngsters trooped round Jones, and after tasting the white lumps, shrieked in such delight that

In all his days Jones had never seen such miserable Indians. Dirty blankets hid all their person, except

straggling black hair, hungry, wolfish eyes and moccasined feet. They crowded into the path before the cabin

door and mumbled and stared and waited. No dignity, no brightness, no suggestion of friendliness marked

"Starved!" exclaimed Rea. "They've come to the lake to invoke the Great Spirit to send the reindeer. Buff,

whatever you do, don't feed them. If you do, we'll have them on our hands all winter. It's cruel, but, man,

Notwithstanding the practical trapper's admonition Jones could not resist the pleading of the children. He

could not stand by and see them starve. After ascertaining there was absolutely nothing to eat in the tepees, he

invited the little ones into the cabin, and made a great pot of soup, into which he dropped compressed

biscuits. The savage children were like wildcats. Jones had to call in Rea to assist him in keeping the

famished little aborigines from tearing each other to pieces. When finally they were all fed, they had to be

Next day Jones traded with the Yellow Knives. He had a goodly supply of baubles, besides blankets, gloves

and boxes of canned goods, which he had brought for such trading. He secured a dozen of the largeboned,

white and black Indian dogs, huskies, Rea called themtwo long sleds with harness and several pairs of

snowshoes. This trade made Jones rub his hands in satisfaction, for during all the long journey north he had

Twentyfour hours sufficed to show Jones the wisdom of the trapper's words, for in just that time the crazed,

ignorant savages had glutted the generous store of food, which should have lasted them for weeks. The next

day they were begging at the cabin door. Rea cursed and threatened them with his fists, but they returned

Days passed. All the time, in light and dark, the Indians filled the air with dismal chant and doleful

incantations to the Great Spirit, and the tum! tum! tum! tum! of tomtoms, a specific feature of their wild

But the white monotony of the rolling land and level lake remained unbroken. The reindeer did not come.

Forty degrees below zero did not trouble the Indians. They stamped till they dropped, and sang till their

voices vanished, and beat the tomtoms everlastingly. Jones fed the children once each day, against the

One day, while Rea was absent, a dozen braves succeeded in forcing an entrance, and clamored so fiercely,

and threatened so desperately, that Jones was on the point of giving them food when the door opened to admit

With a glance he saw the situation. He dropped the bucket he carried, threw the door wide open and

commenced action. Because of his great bulk he seemed slow, but every blow of his sledgehammer fist

knocked a brave against the wall, or through the door into the snow. When he could reach two savages at

once, by way of diversion, he swung their heads together with a crack. They dropped like dead things. Then

he handled them as if they were sacks of corn, pitching them out into the snow. In two minutes the cabin was

"Buff, I'm goin' to get mad at these thievin' red, skins some day," he said gruffly. The expanse of his chest

heaved slightly, like the slow swell of a calm ocean, but there was no other indication of unusual exertion.

Shortly afterward, he went out for wood, and as usual scanned the expanse of the lake. The sun shone mistier

and warmer, and frost feathers floated in the air. Sky and sun and plain and lakeall were gray. Jones

fancied he saw a distant moving mass of darker shade than the gray background. He called the trapper.

"Caribou," said Rea instantly. "The vanguard of the migration. Hear the Indians! Hear their cry: "Aton! Aton!

they mean reindeer. The idiots have scared the herd with their infernal racket, an' no meat will they get. The

For a few moments his companion surveyed the lake and shore with a plainsman's eye, then dashed within, to

reappear with a Winchester in each hand. Through the crowd of bewailing, bemoaning Indians; he sped, to

the low, dying bank. The hard crust of snow upheld him. The gray cloud was a thousand yards out upon the

lake and moving southeast. If the caribou did not swerve from this course they would pass close to a

projecting point of land, a halfmile up the lake. So, keeping a wary eye upon them, the hunter ran swiftly.

He had not hunted antelope and buffalo on the plains all his life without learning how to approach moving

game. As long as the caribou were in action, they could not tell whether he moved or was motionless. In

order to tell if an object was inanimate or not, they must stop to see, of which fact the keen hunter took

advantage. Suddenly he saw the gray mass slow down and bunch up. He stopped running, to stand like a

stump. When the reindeer moved again, he moved, and when they slackened again, he stopped and became

motionless. As they kept to their course, he worked gradually closer and closer. Soon he distinguished gray,

bobbing heads. When the leader showed signs of halting in his slow trot the hunter again became a statue. He

saw they were easy to deceive; and, daringly confident of success, he encroached on the ice and closed up the

gap till not more than two hundred yards separated him from the gray, bobbing, antlered mass.

Jones dropped on one knee. A moment only his eyes lingered admiringly on the wild and beautiful spectacle;

then he swept one of the rifles to a level. Old habit made the little beaded sight cover first the stately leader.

Bang! The gray monarch leaped straight forward, forehoofs up, antlered head back, to fall dead with a crash.

Then for a few moments the Winchester spat a deadly stream of fire, and when emptied was thrown down for

the other gun, which in the steady, sure hands of the hunter belched death to the caribou.

The herd rushed on, leaving the white surface of the lake gray with a struggling, kicking, bellowing heap.

When Jones reached the caribou he saw several trying to rise on crippled legs. With his knife he killed these,

not without some hazard to himself. Most of the fallen ones were already dead, and the others soon lay still.

Beautiful gray creatures they were, almost white, with widereaching, symmetrical horns.

A medley of yells arose from the shore, and Rea appeared running with two sleds, with the whole tribe of

"Buff, you're jest what old Jim said you was," thundered Rea, as he surveyed the gray pile. "Here's winter

"Thirty shots in less than thirty seconds," said Jones, "An' I'll bet every ball I sent touched hair. How many

"Twenty! twenty! Buff, or I've forgot how to count. I guess mebbe you can't handle them shootin' arms. Ho!

Rea whipped out a bowie knife and began disemboweling the reindeer. He had not proceeded far in his task

when the crazed savages were around him. Every one carried a basket or receptacle, which he swung aloft,

and they sang, prayed, rejoiced on their knees. Jones turned away from the sickening scenes that convinced

him these savages were little better than cannibals. Rea cursed them, and tumbled them over, and threatened

them with the big bowie. An altercation ensued, heated on his side, frenzied on theirs. Thinking some

Whereupon the giant hauled out ten smoking carcasses. Bursting into a babel of savage glee and tumbling

"Thievin' fools." growled Rea, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Said they'd prevailed on the Great Spirit to

send the reindeer. Why, they'd never smelled warm meat but for you. Now, Buff, they'll gorge every hair,

hide an' hoof of their share in less than a week. Thet's the last we do for the damned cannibals. Didn't you see

them eatin' of the raw innards?faugh! I'm calculatin' we'll see no more reindeer. It's late for the migration.

The big herd has driven southward. But we're lucky, thanks to your prairie trainin'. Come on now with the

By loading three reindeer on each sled, the hunters were not long in transporting them to the cabin. "Buff,

there ain't much doubt about them keepin' nice and cool," said Rea. "They'll freeze, an' we can skin them

That night the starved wolf dogs gorged themselves till they could not rise from the snow. Likewise the

Yellow Knives feasted. How long the ten reindeer might have served the wasteful tribe, Rea and Jones never

found out. The next day two Indians arrived with dogtrains, and their advent was hailed with another feast,

"Guess we're goin' to get rid of our blasted hungry neighbors," said Rea, coming in next morning with the

water pail, "An' I'll be durned, Buff, if I don't believe them crazy heathen have been told about you. Them

The Yellow Knives were breaking camp, and the hunters were at once conscious of the difference in their

bearing. Rea addressed several braves, but got no reply. He laid his broad hand on the old wrinkled chief,

who repulsed him, and turned his back. With a growl, the trapper spun the Indian round, and spoke as many

words of the language as he knew. He got a cold response, which ended in the ragged old chief starting up,

stretching a long, dark arm northward, and with eyes fixed in fanatical subjection, shouting: "Naza! Naza!

"Heathen!" Rea shook his gun in the faces of the messengers. "It'll go bad with you to come Nazain' any

When they were once more in the cabin, Rea told Jones that the messengers had been sent to warn the Yellow

Knives not to aid the white hunters in any way. That night the dogs were kept inside, and the men took turns

in watching. Morning showed a broad trail southward. And with the going of the Yellow Knives the mercury

So with this agreeable riddance and plenty of meat and fuel to cheer them, the hunters sat down in their snug

Those few intervals when the wind did not blow were the only times Rea and Jones got out of doors. To the

plainsman, new to the north, the dim gray world about him was of exceeding interest. Out of the twilight

shone a wan, round, lusterless ring that Rea said was the sun. The silence and desolation were

"Wolves can't live on snow. They're farther south after caribou, or farther north after muskox."

In those few still intervals Jones remained out as long as he dared, with the mercury sinking to sixty

degrees. He turned from the wonder of the unreal, remote sun, to the marvel in the northAurora

borealiseverpresent, everchanging, everbeautiful! and he gazed in rapt attention.

"Polar lights," said Rea, as if he were speaking of biscuits. "You'll freeze. It's gettin' cold."

Cold it became, to the matter of seventy degrees. Frost covered the walls of the cabin and the roof, except

just over the fire. The reindeer were harder than iron. A knife or an ax or a steeltrap burned as if it had been

heated in fire, and stuck to the hand. The hunters experienced trouble in breathing; the air hurt their lungs.

The months dragged. Rea grew more silent day by day, and as he sat before the fire his wide shoulders

sagged lower and lower. Jones, unaccustomed to the waiting, the restraint, the barrier of the north, worked on

guns, sleds, harness, till he felt he would go mad. Then to save his mind he constructed a windmill of caribou

hides and pondered over it trying to invent, to put into practical use an idea he had once conceived.

Hour after hour he lay under his blankets unable to sleep, and listened to the north wind. Sometimes Rea

mumbled in his slumbers; once his giant form started up, and he muttered a woman's name. Shadows from

the fire flickered on the walls, visionary, spectral shadows, cold and gray, fitting the north. At such times he

longed with all the power of his soul to be among those scenes far southward, which he called home. For

days Rea never spoke a word, only gazed into the fire, ate and slept. Jones, drifting far from his real self,

feared the strange mood of the trapper and sought to break it, but without avail. More and more he reproached

himself, and singularly on the one fact that, as he did not smoke himself, he had brought only a small store of

tobacco. Rea, inordinate and inveterate smoker, had puffed away all the weed in clouds of white, then had

At last the marvel in the north dimmed, the obscure gray shade lifted, the hope in the south brightened, and

Spring weather at twentyfive below zero! On April 12th a small band of Indians made their appearance. Of

the Dog tribe were they, an offcast of the Great Slaves, according to Rea, and as motley, starring and starved

as the Yellow Knives. But they were friendly, which presupposed ignorance of the white hunters, and Rea

persuaded the strongest brave to accompany them as guide northward after muskoxen.

On April 16th, having given the Indians several caribou carcasses, and assuring them that the cabin was

protected by white spirits, Rea and Jones, each with sled and train of dogs, started out after their guide, who

was similarly equipped, over the glistening snow toward the north. They made sixty miles the first day, and

pitched their Indian tepee on the shores of Artillery Lake. Traveling northeast, they covered its white waste of

one hundred miles in two days. Then a day due north, over rolling, monotonously snowy plain; devoid of

rock, tree or shrub, brought them into a country of the strangest, queerest little spruce trees, very slender, and

An occasional reindeer was seen and numerous foxes and hares trotted off into the woods, evincing more

curiosity than fear. All were silver white, even the reindeer, at a distance, taking the hue of the north. Once a

beautiful creature, unblemished as the snow it trod, ran up a ridge and stood watching the hunters. It

"Ho! Ho! there you are!" cried Rea, reaching for his Winchester. "Polar wolf! Them's the white devils we'll

As if the wolf understood, he lifted his white, sharp head and uttered a bark or howl that was like nothing so

much as a haunting, unearthly mourn. The animal then merged into the white, as if he were really a spirit of

In this ancient forest of youthful appearing trees, the hunters cut firewood to the full carrying capacity of the

sleds. For five days the Indian guide drove his dogs over the smooth crust, and on the sixth day, about noon,

halting in a hollow, he pointed to tracks in the snow and called out: "Ageter! Ageter! Ageter!"

The hunters saw sharply defined hoofmarks, not unlike the tracks of reindeer, except that they were longer.

The Indian led the way with the dogs, and Rea and Jones followed, slipping over the hard crust without

sinking in and traveling swiftly. Soon the guide, pointing, again let out the cry: "Ageter!" at the same moment

Some few hundred yards down the hollow, a number of large black animals, not unlike the shaggy, humpy

buffalo, lumbered over the snow. Jones echoed Rea's yell, and broke into a run, easily distancing the puffing

The muskoxen squared round to the dogs, and were soon surrounded by the yelping pack. Jones came up to

find six old bulls uttering grunts of rage and shaking ramlike horns at their tormentors. Notwithstanding that

for Jones this was the cumulation of years of desire, the crowning moment, the climax and fruition of

longharbored dreams, he halted before the tame and helpless beasts, with joy not unmixed with pain.

Rea came crashing up behind him and yelled, "Get busy. We need fresh meat, an' I want the skins."

The bulls succumbed to welldirected shots, and the Indian and Rea hurried back to camp with the dogs to

fetch the sleds, while Jones examined with warm interest the animals he had wanted to see all his life. He

found the largest bull approached within a third of the size of a buffalo. He was of a brownishblack color

and very like a large, woolly ram. His head was broad, with sharp, small ears; the horns had wide and

flattened bases and lay flat on the head, to run down back of the eyes, then curve forward to a sharp point.

Like the bison, the musk ox had short, heavy limbs, covered with very long hair, and small, hard hoofs with

hairy tufts inside the curve of bone, which probably served as pads or checks to hold the hoof firm on ice. His

Two muskoxen were loaded on a sled and hauled to camp in one trip. Skinning them was but short work for

such expert hands. All the choice cuts of meat were saved. No time was lost in broiling a steak, which they

"I hate to tell this redskin," replied Rea. "He'll be like the others. But it ain't likely he'd desert us here. He's far

from his base, with nothin' but thet old musket." Rea then commanded the attention of the brave, and began

to mangle the Great Slave and Yellow Knife languages. Of this mixture Jones knew but few words. "Ageter

The guide stared, suddenly appeared to get Rea's meaning, then vigorously shook his head and gazed at Jones

in fear and horror. Following this came an action as singular as inexplicable. Slowly rising, he faced the

north, lifted his hand, and remained statuesque in his immobility. Then he began deliberately packing his

blankets and traps on his sled, which had not been unhitched from the train of dogs.

"Jackoway ditchen hula," echoed Rea. "The damned Indian says 'wife sticks none.' He's goin' to quit us. What

do you think of thet? His wife's out of wood. Jackoway out of wood, an' here we are two days from the Arctic

The trapper coolly cocked his rifle. The savage, who plainly saw and understood the action, never flinched.

He turned his breast to Rea, and there was nothing in his demeanor to suggest his relation to a craven tribe.

"Good heavens, Rea, don't kill him!" exclaimed Jones, knocking up the leveled rifle.

"Why not, I'd like to know?" demanded Rea, as if he were considering the fate of a threatening beast. "I

"Let him go," said Jones. "We are here on the ground. We have dogs and meat. We'll get our calves and reach

No vacillation attended the Indian's mood. From friendly guide, he had suddenly been transformed into a

dark, sullen savage. He refused the muskox meat offered by Jones, and he pointed south and looked at the

white hunters as if he asked them to go with him. Both men shook their heads in answer. The savage struck

his breast a sounding blow and with his index finger pointed at the white of the north, he shouted

He then leaped upon his sled, lashed his dogs into a run, and without looking back disappeared over a ridge.

The muskox hunters sat long silent. Finally Rea shook his shaggy locks and roared. "Ho! Ho! Jackoway out

On the day following the desertion, Jones found tracks to the north of the camp, making a broad trail in which

were numerous little imprints that sent him flying back to get Rea and the dogs. Muskoxen in great numbers

had passed in the night, and Jones and Rea had not trailed the herd a mile before they had it in sight. When

the dogs burst into full cry, the muskoxen climbed a high knoll and squared about to give battle.

As good fortune would have it, the herd split up into several sections, and one part, hard pressed by the dogs,

ran down the knoll, to be cornered under the lee of a bank. The hunters, seeing this small number, hurried

upon them to find three cows and five badly frightened little calves backed against the bank of snow, with

To a man of Jones's experience and skill, the capturing of the calves was a ridiculously easy piece of work.

The cows tossed their heads, watched the dogs, and forgot their young. The first cast of the lasso settled over

the neck of a little fellow. Jones hauled him out over the slippery snow and laughed as he bound the hairy

legs. In less time than he had taken to capture one buffalo calf, with half the escort, he had all the little

muskoxen bound fast. Then he signaled this feat by pealing out an Indian yell of victory.

"Buff, we've got 'em," cried Rea; "An' now for the hell of it gettin' 'em home. I'll fetch the sleds. "You might

Of all Jones's prizes of captured wild beastswhich numbered nearly every species common to western

North Americahe took greatest pride in the little muskoxen. In truth, so great had been his passion to

capture some of these rare and inaccessible mammals, that he considered the day's world the fulfillment of his

life's purpose. He was happy. Never had he been so delighted as when, the very evening of their captivity, the

muskoxen, evincing no particular fear of him, began to dig with sharp hoofs into the snow for moss. And

they found moss, and ate it, which solved Jones's greatest problem. He had hardly dared to think how to feed

"Rea, will you look at that! Rea, will you look at that!" he kept repeating. "See, they're hunting, feed."

And the giant, with his rare smile, watched him play with the calves. They were about two and a half feet

high, and resembled longhaired sheep. The ears and horns were undiscernible, and their color considerably

"No sense of fear of man," said the lifestudent of animals. "But they shrink from the dogs."

In packing for the journey south, the captives were strapped on the sleds. This circumstance necessitated a

sacrifice of meat and wood, which brought grave, doubtful shakes of Rea's great head.

Days of hastening over the icy snow, with short hours for sleep and rest, passed before the hunters awoke to

the consciousness that they were lost. The meat they had packed had gone to feed themselves and the dogs.

"Better kill a calf, an' cook meat while we've got little wood left," suggested Rea.

They headed southwest. All about them glared the grim monotony of the arctics. No rock or bush or tree

made a welcome mark upon the hoary plain Wonderland of frost, white marble desert, infinitude of gleaming

Snow began to fall, making the dogs flounder, obliterating the sun by which they traveled. They camped to

wait for clearing weather. Biscuits soaked in tea made their meal. At dawn Jones crawled out of the tepee.

The snow had ceased. But where were the dogs? He yelled in alarm. Then little mounds of white, scattered

here and there became animated, heaved, rocked and rose to dogs. Blankets of snow had been their covering.

Rea had ceased his "Jackoway out of wood," for a reiterated question: "Where are the wolves?"

Near the close of that day, in which they had resumed travel, from the crest of a ridge they descried a long,

low, undulating dark line. It proved to be the forest of "Little sticks," where, with grateful assurance of fire

"We've four biscuits left, an' enough tea for one drink each," said Rea. "I calculate we're two hundred miles

At that moment the night wind wafted through the forest a long, haunting mourn. The calves shifted uneasily;

the dogs raised sharp noses to sniff the air, and Rea, settling back against a tree, cried out: "Ho! Ho!" Again

the savage sound, a keen wailing note with the hunger of the northland in it, broke the cold silence. "You'll

see a pack of real wolves in a minute," said Rea. Soon a swift pattering of feet down a forest slope brought

him to his feet with a curse to reach a brawny hand for his rifle. White streaks crossed the black of the tree

trunks; then indistinct forms, the color of snow, swept up, spread out and streaked to and fro. Jones thought

the great, gaunt, pure white beasts the spectral wolves of Rea's fancy, for they were silent, and silent wolves

"Ho! Ho!" yelled Rea. "There's greenfire eyes for you, Buff. Hell itself ain't nothin' to these white devils.

Get the calves in the tepee, an' stand ready to loose the dogs, for we've got to fight."

Raising his rifle he opened fire upon the white foe. A struggling, rustling sound followed the shots. But

whether it was the threshing about of wolves dying in agony, or the fighting of the fortunate ones over those

Following his example Jones also fired rapidly on the other side of the tepee. The same inarticulate, silently

The dogs strained at their chains and bravely bayed the wolves. The hunters heaped logs and brush on the

fire, which, blazing up, sent a bright light far into the woods. On the outer edge of that circle moved the

So it proved. When the fire burned and crackled they kept well in the background. The hunters had a long

respite from serious anxiety, during which time they collected all the available wood at hand. But at

"Have you any shots left for the 4590, besides what's in the magazine?" asked Rea.

With careful aim Jones emptied the magazine into the gray, gliding, groping mass. The same rustling,

For the present the attack appeared to have been effectually checked. The hunters, sparingly adding a little of

their fast diminishing pile of fuel to the fire. decided to lie down for much needed rest, but not for sleep. How

long they lay there, cramped by the calves, listening for stealthy steps, neither could tell; it might have been

moments and it might have been hours. All at once came a rapid rush of pattering feet, succeeded by a chorus

of angry barks, then a terrible commingling of savage snarls, growls, snaps and yelps.

Jones pushed his cocked rifle ahead of him and straightened up outside the tepee. A wolf, large as a panther

and white as the gleaming snow, sprang at him. Even as he discharged his rifle, right against the breast of the

beast, he saw its dripping jaws, its wicked green eyes, like spurts of fire and felt its hot breath. It fell at his

feet and writhed in the death struggle. Slender bodies of black and white, whirling and tussling together, sent

out fiendish uproar. Rea threw a blazing stick of wood among them, which sizzled as it met the furry coats,

and brandishing another he ran into the thick of the fight. Unable to stand the proximity of fire, the wolves

"What a huge brute!" exclaimed Jones, dragging the one he had shot into the light. It was a superb animal,

thin, supple, strong, with a coat of frosty fur, very long and fine. Rea began at once to skin it, remarking that

Though the wolves remained in the vicinity of camp, none ventured near. The dogs moaned and whined; their

restlessness increased as dawn approached, and when the gray light came, Jones founds that some of them

had been badly lacerated by the fangs of the wolves. Rea hunted for dead wolves and found not so much as a

Soon the hunters were speeding southward. Other than a disposition to fight among themselves, the dogs

showed no evil effects of the attack. They were lashed to their best speed, for Rea said the white rangers of

the north would never quit their trail. All day the men listened for the wild, lonesome, haunting mourn. But it

A wonderful halo of white and gold, that Rea called a sundog, hung in the sky all afternoon, and dazzlingly

bright over the dazzling world of snow circled and glowed a mocking sun, brother of the desert mirage,

The first pale evening star twinkled in the east when the hunters made camp on the shore of Artilery Lake. At

While he built a fire before the tepee, Jones strode up and down, suddenly to whip out his knife and make for

the tame little muskoxen, now digging the snow. Then he wheeled abruptly and held out the blade to Rea.

"We've got to eat," said Jones. "And I can't kill one of them. I can't, so you do it."

"Kill one of our calves?" roared Rea. "Not till hell freezes over! I ain't commenced to get hungry. Besides, the

Nothing more was said. They ate their last biscuit. Jones packed the calves away in the tepee, and turned to

the dogs. All day they had worried him; something was amiss with them, and even as he went among them a

fierce fight broke out. Jones saw it was unusual, for the attacked dogs showed craven fear, and the attacking

ones a howling, savage intensity that surprised him. Then one of the vicious brutes rolled his eyes, frothed at

the mouth, shuddered and leaped in his harness, vented a hoarse howl and fell back shaking and retching.

"My God! Rea!" cried Jones in horror. "Come here! Look! That dog is dying of rabies! Hydrophobia! The

"If you ain't right!" exclaimed Rea. "I seen a dog die of thet onct, an' he acted like this. An' thet one ain't all.

Look, Buff! look at them green eyes! Didn't I say the white wolves was hell? We'll have to kill every dog

Jones shot the dog, and soon afterward three more that manifested signs of the disease. It was an awful

situation. To kill all the dogs meant simply to sacrifice his life and Rea's; it meant abandoning hope of ever

reaching the cabin. Then to risk being bitten by one of the poisoned, maddened brutes, to risk the most

"Rea, we've one chance," cried Jones, with pale face. "Can you hold the dogs, one by one, while muzzle

"Ho! Ho!" replied the giant. Placing his bowie knife between his teeth, with gloved hands he seized and

dragged one of the dogs to the campfire. The animal whined and protested, but showed no ill spirit. Jones

muzzled his jaws tightly with strong cords. Another and another were tied up, then one which tried to snap at

Jones was nearly crushed by the giant's grip. The last, a surly brute, broke out into mad ravings the moment

he felt the touch of Jones's hands, and writhing, frothing, he snapped Jones's sleeve. Rea jerked him loose and

held him in the air with one arm, while with the other he swung the bowie. They hauled the dead dogs out on

Presently, as darkness fastened down tight, it camethe same cry, wild, haunting, mourning. But for hours it

Jones dropped to sleep as he touched his blankets. Morning dawned for him, to find the great, dark, shadowy

On the instant Jones saw a wolf skulking up the bank. Throwing up his rifle, which he had carried out of the

tepee, he took a snapshot at the beast. It ran off on three legs, to go out of sight over the hank. Jones

scrambled up the steep, slippery place, and upon arriving at the ridge, which took several moments of hard

work, he looked everywhere for the wolf. In a moment he saw the animal, standing still some hundred or

more paces down a hollow. With the quick report of Jones's second shot, the wolf fell and rolled over. The

hunter ran to the spot to find the wolf was dead. Taking hold of a front paw, he dragged the animal over the

"That's strange. I saw it hanging by the skin as the wolf ran up the bank. I'll look for it."

By the bloody trail on the snow he returned to the place where the wolf had fallen, and thence back to the

spot where its leg had been broken by the bullet. He discovered no sign of the foot.

"No, and it appears odd to me. The snow is so hard the foot could not have sunk."

"Well, the wolf ate his foot, thet's what," returned Rea. "Look at them teeth marks!"

"Yes, it is. These wolves are crazy at times. You've seen thet. An' the smell of blood, an' nothin' else, mind

Impossible as the thing seemed to Jonesand he could not but believe further evidence of his own' eyesit

was even stranger to drive a train of mad dogs. Yet that was what Rea and he did, and lashed them, beat them

to cover many miles in the long day's journey. Rabies had broken out in several dogs so alarmingly that Jones

had to kill them at the end of the run. And hardly had the sound of the shots died when faint and far away, but

A waiting, watching, sleepless night followed. Again the hunters faced the south. Hour after hour, riding,

running, walking, they urged the poor, jaded, poisoned dogs. At dark they reached the head of Artillery Lake.

Rea placed the tepee between two huge stones. Then the hungry hunters, tired, grim, silent, desperate,

It came on the cold wind, the same haunting mourn, dreadful in its significance.

Absence of fire inspirited the wary wolves. Out of the pale gloom gaunt white forms emerged, agile and

stealthy, slipping on velvetpadded feet, closer, closer, closer. The dogs wailed in terror.

Jones plunged in after his comrade. The despairing howls of the dogs, drowned in more savage, frightful

sounds, knelled one tragedy and foreboded a more terrible one. Jones looked out to see a white mass, like

Rapidly Jones emptied his rifle into the white fray. The mass split; gaunt wolves leaped high to fall back

dead; others wriggled and limped away; others dragged their hind quarters; others darted at the tepee.

The giant grabbed the ax, and barred the door of the tepee. Crash! the heavy iron cleaved the skull of the first

brute. Crash! it lamed the second. Then Rea stood in the narrow passage between the rocks, waiting with

uplifted ax. A shaggy, white demon, snapping his jaws, sprang like a dog. A sodden, thudding blow met him

and he slunk away without a cry. Another rabid beast launched his white body at the giant. Like a flash the ax

descended. In agony the wolf fell, to spin round and round, running on his hind legs, while his head and

Jones crouched in the opening of the tepee, knife in hand. He doubted his senses. This was a nightmare. He

saw two wolves leap at once. He heard the crash of the ax; he saw one wolf go down and the other slip under

the swinging weapon to grasp the giant's hip. Jones's heard the rend of cloth, and then he pounced like a cat,

to drive his knife into the body of the beast. Another nimble foe lunged at Rea, to sprawl broken and limp

from the iron. It was a silent fight. The giant shut the way to his comrade and the calves; he made no outcry;

he needed but one blow for every beast; magnificent, he wielded death and faced itsilent. He brought the

white wild dogs of the north down with lightning blows, and when no more sprang to the attack, down on the

Three of the poor dogs were dead; the fourth and last gasped at the hunters and died.

The wintry night became a thing of halfconscious past, a dream to the hunters, manifesting its reality only

"If we can eat, we'll make the cabin," said Rea. "But the dogs an' wolves are poison."

Jones found one 4590 cartridge in all the outfit, and with that in the chamber of his rifle, once more struck

south. Spruce trees began to show on the barrens and caribou trails roused hope in the hearts of the hunters.

"Look in the spruces," whispered Jones, dropping the rope of his sled. Among the black trees gray objects

But Jones waited. He knew the value of the last bullet. He had a hunter's patience. When the caribou came

out in an open space, Jones whistled. It was then the rifle grew set and fixed; it was then the red fire belched

At four hundred yards the bullet took some fraction of time to strike. What a long time that was! Then both

hunters heard the spiteful spat of the lead. The caribou fell, jumped up, ran down the slope, and fell again to

An hour of rest, with fire and meat, changed the world to the hunters; still glistening, it yet had lost its bitter

"Pointed north! Wonder what thet means?" Rea plodded on, doubtfully shaking his head.

Night again, clear, cold, silver, starlit, silent night! The hunters rested, listening ever for the haunting mourn.

Day again, white, passionless, monotonous, silent day. The hunters traveled ononon, ever listening for

Another dusk found them within thirty miles of their cabin. Only one more day now.

Rea talked of his furs, of the splendid white furs he could not bring. Jones talked of his little muskoxen calves

Rea awoke first, and kicking off the blankets, went out. His terrible roar of rage made Jones fly to his side.

Under the very shadow of the tepee, where the little muskoxen had been tethered, they lay stretched out

pathetically on crimson snowstiff stonecold, dead. Moccasin tracks told the story of the tragedy.

The north wind, blowing through the thin, dark, weird spruce trees, moaned and seemed to sigh, "Naza!

"Who all was doin' the talkin' last night?" asked Frank next morning, when we were having a late breakfast.

"Cause I've a joke on somebody. Jim he talks in his sleep often, an' last night after you did finally get settled

down, Jim he up in his sleep an' says: 'Shore he's windy as hell! Shore he's windy as hell'!"

At this cruel exposure of his subjective wanderings, Jim showed extreme humiliation; but Frank's eyes fairly

snapped with the fun he got out of telling it. The genial foreman loved a joke. The week's stay at Oak, in

which we all became thoroughly acquainted, had presented Jim as always the same quiet character, easy,

slow, silent, lovable. In his brother cowboy, however, we had discovered in addition to his fine, frank,

friendly spirit, an overwhelming fondness for playing tricks. This boyish mischievousness, distinctly

Arizonian, reached its acme whenever it tended in the direction of our serious leader.

Lawson had been dispatched on some mysterious errand about which my curiosity was all in vain. The order

of the day was leisurely to get in readiness, and pack for our journey to the Siwash on the morrow. I watered

my horse, played with the hounds, knocked about the cliffs, returned to the cabin, and lay down on my bed.

Jim's hands were white with flour. He was kneading dough, and had several low, flat pans on the table.

Wallace and Jones strolled in, and later Frank, and they all took various positions before the fire. I saw Frank,

with the quickness of a sleightofhand performer, slip one of the pans of dough on the chair Jones had

placed by the table. Jim did not see the action; Jones's and Wallace's backs were turned to Frank, and he did

not know I was in the cabin. The conversation continued on the subject of Jones's big bay horse, which,

"Better count his ribs than his tracks," said Frank, and went on talking as easily and naturally as if he had not

But no one could ever foretell Colonel Jones's actions. He showed every intention of seating himself in the

chair, then walked over to his pack to begin searching for something or other. Wallace, however, promptly

took the seat; and what began to be funnier than strange, he did not get up. Not unlikely this circumstance

was owing to the fact that several of the rude chairs had soft layers of old blanket tacked on them. Whatever

were Frank's internal emotions, he presented a remarkably placid and commonplace exterior; but when Jim

began to search for the missing pan of dough, the joker slowly sagged in his chair.

"Shore that beats hell!" said Jim. "I had three pans of dough. Could the pup have taken one?"

Wallace rose to his feet, and the bread pan clattered to the floor, with a clang and a clank, evidently protesting

against the indignity it had suffered. But the dough stayed with Wallace, a great white conspicuous splotch on

"WhyMr. Wallaceyou setin the dough!" exclaimed Frank, in a queer, strangled voice. Then he

It seemed that those two Arizona rangers, matured men though they were, would die of convulsions. I

laughed with them, and so did Wallace, while he brought his onehandled bowie knife into novel use.

Buffalo Jones never cracked a smile, though he did remark about the waste of good flour.

Frank's face was a study for a psychologist when Jim actually apologized to Wallace for being so careless

with his pans. I did not betray Frank, but I resolved to keep a still closer watch on him. It was partially

because of this uneasy sense of his trickiness in the fringe of my mind that I made a discovery. My

sleepingbag rested on a raised platform in one corner, and at a favorable moment I examined the bag. It had

not been tampered with, but I noticed a string turning out through a chink between the logs. I found it came

from a thick layer of straw under my bed, and had been tied to the end of a flatly coiled lasso. Leaving the

thing as it was, I went outside and carelessly chased the hounds round the cabin. The string stretched along

the logs to another chink, where it returned into the cabin at a point near where Frank slept. No great power

of deduction was necessary to acquaint me with full details of the plot to spoil my slumbers. So I patiently

Lawson rode in near sundown with the carcasses of two beasts of some species hanging over his saddle. It

turned out that Jones had planned a surprise for Wallace and me, and it could hardly have been a more

enjoyable one, considering the time and place. We knew he had a flock of Persian sheep on the south slope of

Buckskin, but had no idea it was within striking distance of Oak. Lawson had that day hunted up the

shepherd and his sheep, to return to us with two sixtypound Persian lambs. We feasted at suppertime on

meat which was sweet, juicy, very tender and of as rare a flavor as that of the Rocky Mountain sheep.

My state after supper was one of huge enjoyment and with intense interest I awaited Frank's first spar for an

"Saw a big rattler run under the cabin today," he said, as if he were speaking of one of Old Baldy's shoes. "I

"Shore I seen him often," put in Jim. Good, old, honest Jim, led away by his trickster comrade! It was very

"These old canyon beds are ideal dens for rattle snakes," chimed in my scientific California friend. "I have

found several dens, but did not molest them as this is a particularly dangerous time of the year to meddle with

While he made this remarkable statement, he had the grace to hide his face in a huge puff of smoke. He, too,

was in the plot. I waited for Jones to come out with some ridiculous theory or fact concerning the particular

species of snake, but as he did not speak, I concluded they had wisely left him out of the secret. After

mentally debating a moment, I decided, as it was a very harmless joke, to help Frank into the fulfillment of

"Rattlesnakes!" I exclaimed. "Heavens! I'd die if I heard one, let alone seeing it. A big rattler jumped at me

Plainly, Frank was delighted to hear of my antipathy and my unfortunate experience, and he proceeded to

expatiate on the viciousness of rattlesnakes, particularly those of Arizona. If I had believed the succeeding

stories, emanating from the fertile brains of those three fellows, I should have made certain that Arizona

canyons were Brazilian jungles. Frank's parting shot, sent in a mellow, kind voice, was the best point in the

whole trick. "Now, I'd be nervous if I had a sleepin' bag like yours, because it's just the place for a rattler to

In the confusion and dim light of bedtime I contrived to throw the end of my lasso over the horn of a saddle

hanging on the wall, with the intention of augmenting the noise I soon expected to create; and I placed my

automatic rifle and .38 S. and W. Special within easy reach of my hand. Then I crawled into my bag and

composed myself to listen. Frank soon began to snore, so brazenly, so fictitiously, that I wondered at the

man's absorbed intensity in his joke; and I was at great pains to smother in my breast a violent burst of riotous

merriment. Jones's snores, however, were real enough, and this made me enjoy the situation all the more;

because if he did not show a mild surprise when the catastrophe fell, I would greatly miss my guess. I knew

the three wily conspirators were wideawake. Suddenly I felt a movement in the straw under me and a faint

rustling. It was so soft, so sinuous, that if I had not known it was the lasso, I would assuredly have been

frightened. I gave a little jump, such as one will make quickly in bed. Then the coil ran out from under the

straw. How subtly suggestive of a snake! I made a slight outcry, a big jump, paused a moment for

effectiveness in which time Frank forgot to snorethen let out a tremendous yell, grabbed my guns, sent

Crash! the saddle came down, to be followed by sounds not on Frank's programme and certainly not

calculated upon by me. But they were all the more effective. I gathered that Lawson, who was not in the

secret, and who was a nightmare sort of sleeper anyway, had knocked over Jim's table, with its array of pots

and pans and then, unfortunately for Jones had kicked that innocent person in the stomach.

As I lay there in my bag, the very happiest fellow in the wide world, the sound of my mirth was as the buzz

When the three hypocrites recovered sufficiently from the startling climax to calm Lawson, who swore the

cabin had been attacked by Indians; when Jones stopped roaring long enough to hear it was only a harmless

snake that had caused the trouble, we hushed to repose once morenot, however, without hearing some

trenchant remarks from the boiling Colonel anent fun and fools, and the indubitable fact that there was not a

Long after this explosion had died away, I heard, or rather felt, a mysterious shudder or tremor of the cabin,

and I knew that Frank and Jim were shaking with silent laughter. On my own score, I determined to find if

Jones, in his strange makeup, had any sense of humor, or interest in life, or feeling, or love that did not

center and hinge on fourfooted beasts. In view of the rude awakening from what, no doubt, were pleasant

dreams of wonderful white and green animals, combining the intelligence of man and strength of brutesa

new species creditable to his geniusI was perhaps unjust in my conviction as to his lack of humor. And as

to the other question, whether or not he had any real human feeling for the creatures built in his own image,

The following morning, as soon as Lawson got in with the horses, we packed and started. Rather sorry was I

to bid goodby to Oak Spring. Taking the back trail of the Stewarts, we walked the horses all day up a slowly

narrowing, ascending canyon. The hounds crossed coyote and deer trails continually, but made no break.

Sounder looked up as if to say he associated painful reminiscences with certain kinds of tracks. At the head of

the canyon we reached timber at about the time dusk gathered, and we located for the night. Being once again

nearly nine thousand feet high, we found the air bitterly cold, making a blazing fire most acceptable.

In the haste to get supper we all took a hand, and some one threw upon our tarpaulin tablecloth a tin cup of

butter mixed with carbolic acida concoction Jones had used to bathe the sore feet of the dogs. Of course I

got hold of this, spread a generous portion on my hot biscuit, placed some redhot beans on that, and began

to eat like a hungry hunter. At first I thought I was only burned. Then I recognized the taste and burn of the

acid and knew something was wrong. Picking up the tin, I examined it, smelled the pungent odor and felt a

queer numb sense of fear. This lasted only for a moment, as I well knew the use and power of the acid, and

had not swallowed enough to hurt me. I was about to make known my mistake in a matteroffact way,

"OhohohI'm poisoned! I ate nearly all of it! OhI'm burning up! I'm dying!" With that I began to

Consternation preceded shock. But in the excitement of the moment, Wallacewho, though badly scared,

retained his wits made for me with a can of condensed milk. He threw me back with no gentle hand, and was

squeezing the life out of me to make me open my mouth, when I gave him a jab in his side. I imagined his

surprise, as this peculiar reception of his firstaidtotheinjured made him hold off to take a look at me,

and in this interval I contrived to whisper to him: "Joke! Joke! you idiot! I'm only shamming. I want to see if

From that moment I shall always believe that the stage lost a great tragedian in Wallace. With a magnificent

gesture he threw the can of condensed milk at Jones, who was so stunned he did not try to dodge.

"Thoughtless man! Murderer! it's too late!" cried Wallace, laying me back across his knees. "It's too late. His

I could see from under my hatbrim that the solemn, hollow voice had penetrated the cold exterior of the

plainsman. He could not speak; he clasped and unclasped his big hands in helpless fashion. Frank was as

white as a sheet. This was simply delightful to me. But the expression of miserable, impotent distress on old

Jim's sunbrowned face was more than I could stand, and I could no longer keep up the deception. Just as

Wallace cried out to Jones to prayI wished then I had not weakened so soonI got up and walked to the

His under jaw dropped, then he nervously shoveled biscuits at me. Jones grabbed my hand and cried out with

"Sure. Why, carbolic acid never phases me. I've often used it for rattlesnake bites. I did not tell you, but that

rattler at the cabin last night actually bit me, and I used carbolic to cure the poison."

Frank mumbled something about horses, and faded into the gloom. As for Jones, he looked at me rather

incredulously, and the absolute, almost childish gladness he manifested because I had been snatched from the

On awakening in the morning I found frost half an inch thick covered my sleepingbag, whitened the ground,

We were getting ready for an early start, when two riders, with packhorses jogging after them, came down

the trail from the direction of Oak Spring. They proved to be Jeff Clarke, the wildhorse wrangler mentioned

by the Stewarts, and his helper. They were on the way into the breaks for a string of pintos. Clarke was a

short, heavily bearded man, of jovial aspect. He said he had met the Stewarts going into Fredonia, and being

advised of our destination, had hurried to come up with us. As we did not know, except in a general way,

Our camping site had been close to the divide made by one of the long, wooded ridges sent off by Buckskin

Mountain, and soon we were descending again. We rode half a mile down a timbered slope, and then out into

a beautiful, flat forest of gigantic pines. Clarke informed us it was a level bench some ten miles long, running

out from the slopes of Buckskin to face the Grand Canyon on the south, and the 'breaks of the Siwash on the

west. For two hours we rode between the stately lines of trees, and the hoofs of the horses gave forth no

sound. A long, silvery grass, sprinkled with smiling bluebells, covered the ground, except close under the

pines, where soft red mats invited lounging and rest. We saw numerous deer, great gray mule deer, almost as

large as elk. Jones said they had been crossed with elk once, which accounted for their size. I did not see a

Clarke led us to the rim of the canyon. Without any preparationfor the giant trees hid the open skywe

rode right out to the edge of the tremendous chasm. At first I did not seem to think; my faculties were

benumbed; only the pure sensorial instinct of the savage who sees, but does not feel, made me take note of

the abyss. Not one of our party had ever seen the canyon from this side, and not one of us said a word. But

"Wild place this is hyar," he said. "Seldom any one but horse wranglers gits over this far. I've hed a bunch of

wild pintos down in a canyon below fer two years. I reckon you can't find no better place fer camp than right

hyar. Listen. Do you hear thet rumble? Thet's Thunder Falls. You can only see it from one place, an' thet far

off, but thar's brooks you can git at to water the hosses. Fer thet matter, you can ride up the slopes an' git

snow. If you can git snow close, it'd be better, fer thet's an allfired bad trail down fer water."

"Reckon it is. Cougars is as thick in hyar as rabbits in a springhole canyon. I'm on the way now to bring up

my pintos. The cougars hev cost me hundreds I might say thousands of dollars. I lose hosses all the time; an'

damn me, gentlemen, I've never raised a colt. This is the greatest cougar country in the West. Look at those

yellow crags! Thar's where the cougars stay. No one ever hunted 'em. It seems to me they can't be hunted.

Deer and wild hosses by the thousand browse hyar on the mountain in summer, an' down in the breaks in

winter. The cougars live fat. You'll find deer and wildhoss carcasses all over this country. You'll find lions'

dens full of bones. You'll find warm deer left for the coyotes. But whether you'll find the cougars, I can't say.

I fetched dogs in hyar, an' tried to ketch Old Tom. I've put them on his trail an' never saw hide nor hair of

"Well, I can see that," replied our leader. "I never hunted lions in such a country, and never knew any one

who had. We'll have to learn how. We've the time and the dogs, all we need is the stuff in us."

"I hope you fellars git some cougars, an' I believe you will. Whatever you do, kill Old Tom."

"What!" exclaimed Clarke, looking from Jones to us. His rugged face wore a halfsmile.

"I'm if he'll ever rope Old Tom," burst out Clarke, ejecting a huge quid of tobacco. "Why, man alive!

it'd be the death of you to git near thet old villain. I never seen him, but I've seen his tracks fer five years.

They're larger than any hoss tracks you ever seen. He'll weigh over three hundred, thet old cougar. Hyar, take

a look at my man's hoss. Look at his back. See them marks? Wal, Old Tom made them, an' he made them

The mustang to which Clarke called our attention was a sleek cream and white pinto. Upon his side and back

"I don't know. Perhaps he got scared of the dogs. It took thet pinto a year to git well. Old Tom is a real lion.

He'll kill a fullgrown hoss when he wants, but a yearlin' colt is his especial likin'. You're sure to run acrost

his trail, an' you'll never miss it. Wal, if I find any cougar sign down in the canyon, I'll build two fires so as to

let you know. Though no hunter, I'm tolerably acquainted with the varmints. The deer an' hosses are rangin'

the forest slopes now, an' I think the cougars come up over the rim rock at night an' go back in the mornin'.

Anyway, if your dogs can follow the trails, you've got sport, an' more'n sport comin' to you. But take it from

After all our disappointments in the beginning of the expedition, our hardship on the desert, our trials with the

dogs and horses, it was real pleasure to make permanent camp with wood, water and feed at hand, a

soulstirring, everchanging picture before us, and the certainty that we were in the wild lairs of the

While we were unpacking, every now and then I would straighten up and gaze out beyond. I knew the

outlook was magnificent and sublime beyond words, but as yet I had not begun to understand it. The great

pine trees, growing to the very edge of the rim, received their full quota of appreciation from me, as did the

The location we selected for camp was a large glade, fifty paces or more from the precipice far enough, the

cowboys averred, to keep our traps from being sucked down by some of the whirlpool winds, native to the

spot. In the center of this glade stood a huge gnarled and blasted old pine, that certainly by virtue of hoary

locks and bent shoulders had earned the right to stand aloof from his younger companions. Under this tree we

placed all our belongings, and then, as Frank so felicitously expressed it, we were free to "ooze round an' see

I believe I had a sort of subconscious, selfish idea that some one would steal the canyon away from me if I

did not hurry to make it mine forever; so I sneaked off, and sat under a pine growing on the very rim. At first

glance, I saw below me, seemingly miles away, a wild chaos of red and buff mesas rising out of dark purple

clefts. Beyond these reared a long, irregular tableland, running south almost to the extent of my vision, which

I remembered Clarke had called Powell's Plateau. I remembered, also, that he had said it was twenty miles

distant, was almost that many miles long, was connected to the mainland of Buckskin Mountain by a very

narrow wooded dip of land called the Saddle, and that it practically shut us out of a view of the Grand

Canyon proper. If that was true, what, then, could be the name of the canyon at my feet? Suddenly, as my

gaze wandered from point to point, it was attested by a dark, conical mountain, whitetipped, which rose in

the notch of the Saddle. What could it mean? Were there such things as canyon mirages? Then the dim purple

of its color told of its great distance from me; and then its familiar shape told I had come into my own

againI had found my old friend once more. For in all that plateau there was only one snowcapped

mountainthe San Francisco Peak; and there, a hundred and fifty, perhaps two hundred miles away, far

beyond the Grand Canyon, it smiled brightly at me, as it had for days and days across the desert.

Hearing Jones yelling for somebody or everybody, I jumped up to find a procession heading for a point

farther down the rim wall, where our leader stood waving his arms. The excitement proved to have been

"They're here, boys, they're here," Jones kept repeating, as he showed us different tracks. "This sign is not so

old. Boys, tomorrow we'll get up a lion, sure as you're born. And if we do, and Sounder sees him, then we've

got a liondog! I'm afraid of Don. He has a fine nose; he can run and fight, but he's been trained to deer, and

maybe I can't break him. Moze is still uncertain. If old Jude only hadn't been lamed! She would be the best of

All this was too much for me, so I slipped off again to be alone, and this time headed for the forest. Warm

patches of sunlight, like gold, brightened the ground; dark patches of sky, like ocean blue, gleamed between

the treetops. Hardly a rustle of wind in the finetoothed green branches disturbed the quiet. When I got fully

out of sight of camp, I started to run as if I were a wild Indian. My running had no aim; just sheer mad joy of

the grand old forest, the smell of pine, the wild silence and beauty loosed the spirit in me so it had to run, and

While resting on a fragrant bed of pine needles, endeavoring to regain control over a truant mind, trying to

subdue the encroaching of the natural man on the civilized man, I saw gray objects moving under the trees. I

lost them, then saw them, and presently so plainly that, with delight on delight, I counted seventeen deer pass

through an open arch of dark green. Rising to my feet, I ran to get round a low mound. They saw me and

bounded away with prodigiously long leaps. Bringing their forefeet together, stifflegged under them, they

The forest was so open that I could watch them for a long way; and as I circled with my gaze, a glimpse of

something white arrested my attention. A light, grayish animal appeared to be tearing at an old stump. Upon

nearer view, I recognized a wolf, and he scented or sighted me at the same moment, and loped off into the

shadows of the trees. Approaching the spot where I had marked him I found he had been feeding from the

carcass of a horse. The remains had been only partly eaten, and were of an animal of the mustang build that

had evidently been recently killed. Frightful lacerations under the throat showed where a lion had taken fatal

hold. Deep furrows in the ground proved how the mustang had sunk his hoofs, reared and shaken himself. I

traced roughly defined tracks fifty paces to the lee of a little bank, from which I concluded the lion had

I gave free rein to my imagination and saw the forest dark, silent, peopled by none but its savage denizens,

The lion crept like a shadow, crouched noiselessly down, then leaped on his sleeping or browsing prey. The

lonely night stillness split to a frantic snort and scream of terror, and the stricken mustang with his mortal

enemy upon his back, dashed off with fierce, wild love of life. As he went he felt his foe crawl toward his

neck on claws of fire; he saw the tawny body and the gleaming eyes; then the cruel teeth snapped with the

On the spot I conceived an antipathy toward lions. It was born of the frightful spectacle of what had once

been a glossy, prancing mustang, of the mute, sickening proof of the survival of the fittest, of the law that

Upon telling my campfellows about my discovery, Jones and Wallace walked out to see it, while Jim told

me the wolf I had seen was a "lofer," one of the giant buffalo wolves of Buckskin; and if I would watch the

carcass in the mornings and evenings, I would "shore as hell get a plunk at him."

White pine burned in a beautiful, clear blue flame, with no smoke; and in the center of the campfire left a

golden heart. But Jones would not have any sitting up, and hustled us off to bed, saying we would be

"blamed" glad of it in about fifteen hours. I crawled into my sleepingbag, made a hood of my Navajo

blanket, and peeping from under it, watched the fire and the flickering shadows. The blaze burned down

rapidly. Then the stars blinked. Arizona stars would be moons in any other State! How serene, peaceful,

august, infinite and wonderfully bright! No breeze stirred the pines. The clear tinkle of the cowbells on the

hobbled horses rang from near and distant parts of the forest. The prosaic bell of the meadow and the pasture

brook, here, in this environment, jingled out different notes, as clear, sweet, musical as silver bells.

At daybreak our leader routed us out. The frost mantled the ground so heavily that it looked like snow, and

the rare atmosphere bit like the breath of winter. The forest stood solemn and gray; the canyon lay wrapped in

Hot biscuits and coffee, with a chop or two of the delicious Persian lamb meat, put a less Spartan tinge on the

morning, and gave Wallace and me more strengthwe needed not incentive to leave the fire, hustle our

saddles on the horses and get in line with our impatient leader. The hounds scampered over the frost, shoving

their noses at the tufts of grass and bluebells. Lawson and Jim remained in camp; the rest of us trooped

A mile or so in that direction, the forest of pine ended abruptly, and a wide belt of low, scrubby old trees,

breast high to a horse, fringed the rim of the canyon and appeared to broaden out and grow wavy southward.

The edge of the forest was as dark and regular as if a band of woodchoppers had trimmed it. We threaded our

way through this thicket, all peering into the bisecting deer trails for cougar tracks in the dust.

We lost no time complying, and found him standing in a trail, with his eyes on the sand. "Take a look, boys.

A goodsized male cougar passed here last night. Hyar, Sounder, Don, Moze, come on!"

It was a nervous, excited pack of hounds. Old Jude got to Jones first, and she sang out; then Sounder opened

with his ringing bay, and before Jones could mount, a string of yelping dogs sailed straight for the forest.

With the cowboy leading, we strung into the pines, and I found myself behind. Presently even Wallace

disappeared. I almost threw the reins at Satan, and yelled for him to go. The result enlightened me. Like an

arrow from a bow, the black shot forward. Frank had told me of his speed, that when he found his stride it

was like riding a flying feather to be on him. Jones, fearing he would kill me, had cautioned me always to

hold him in, which I had done. Satan stretched out with long graceful motions; he did not turn aside for logs,

but cleared them with easy and powerful spring, and he swerved only slightly to the trees. This latter, I saw at

once, made the danger for me. It became a matter of saving my legs and dodging branches. The imperative

need of this came to me with convincing force. I dodged a branch on one tree, only to be caught square in the

middle by a snag on another. Crack! If the snag had not broken, Satan would have gone on riderless, and I

would have been left hanging, a pathetic and drooping monition to the risks of the hunt. I kept ducking my

head, now and then falling flat over the pommel to avoid a limb that would have brushed me off, and hugging

the flanks of my horse with my knees. Soon I was at Wallace's heels, and had Jones in sight. Now and then

We began to circle toward the south, to go up and down shallow hollows, to find the pines thinning out; then

we shot out of the forest into the scrubby oak. Riding through this brush was the cruelest kind of work, but

Satan kept on close to the sorrel. The hollows began to get deeper, and the ridges between them narrower. No

On the crest of one of the ridges we found Jones awaiting us. Jude, Tige and Don lay panting at his feet.

"Frank's beyond there some place," continued Jones, "but I can't see him, nor hear the hounds anymore. Don

and Tige split again on deer trails. Old Jude hung on the lion track, but I stopped her here. There's something

I can't figure. Moze held a beeline southwest, and he yelled seldom. Sounder gradually stopped baying.

Jones's long drawnout signal was answered from the direction he expected, and after a little time, Frank's

This drew my attention to our position. We were on a high ridge out in the open, and I could see fifty miles of

the shaggy slopes of Buckskin. Southward the gray, ragged line seemed to stop suddenly, and beyond it

purple haze hung over a void I knew to be the canyon. And facing west, I came, at last, to understand

perfectly the meaning of the breaks in the Siwash. They were nothing more than ravines that headed up on

the slopes and ran down, getting steeper and steeper, though scarcely wider, to break into the canyon.

Knifecrested ridges rolled westward, wave on wave, like the billows of a sea. I appreciated that these breaks

were, at their sources, little washes easy to jump across, and at their mouths a mile deep and impassable.

Huge pine trees shaded these gullies, to give way to the gray growth of stunted oak, which in turn merged

into the dark green of pinyon. A wonderful country for deer and lions, it seemed to me, but impassable, all

Frank soon appeared, brushing through the bending oaks, and Sounder trotted along behind him.

"The last I heard of Moze he was out of the brush, goin' across the pinyon flat, right for the canyon. He had a

"Well, we're certain of one thing; if it was a deer, he won't come back soon, and if it was a lion, he'll tree it,

lose the scent, and come back. We've got to show the hounds a lion in a tree. They'd run a hot trail, bump into

"We can't trust him, or any of them yet. Still, maybe they're doing better than we know."

The outcome of the chase, so favorably started was a disappointment, which we all felt keenly. After some

discussion, we turned south, intending to ride down to the rim wall and follow it back to camp. I happened to

turn once, perhaps to look again at the fardistant pink cliffs of Utah, or the wavelike dome of Trumbull

"Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated he, as Moze hove in sight. "Come hyar, you rascal!"

He was a tired dog, but had no sheepish air about him, such as he had worn when lagging in from deer

chases. He wagged his tail, and flopped down to pant and pant, as if to say: "What's wrong with you guys?"

"Boys, for two cents I'd go back and put Jude on that trail. It's just possible that Moze treed a lion. Butwell,

I expect there's more likelihood of his chasing the lion over the rim; so we may as well keep on. The strange

thing is that Sounder wasn't with Moze. There may have been two lions. You see we are up a tree ourselves. I

have known lions to run in pairs, and also a mother keep four twoyearolds with her. But such cases are

As we left the breaks behind we got out upon a level pinyon flat. A few cedars grew with the pinyons. Deer

"Boys, look at that," said Jones. "This is great lion country, the best I ever saw."

He pointed to the sunken, red, shapeless remain of two horses, and near them a ghastly scattering of bleached

bones. "A lionlair right here on the flat. Those two horses were killed early this spring, and I see no signs of

their carcasses having been covered with brush and dirt. I've got to learn lion lore over again, that's certain."

As we paused at the head of a depression, which appeared to be a gap in the rim wall, filled with massed

pinyons and splintered piles of yellow stone, caught Sounder going through some interesting moves. He

stopped to smell a bush. Then he lifted his head, and electrified me with a great, deep sounding bay.

"Hi! there, listen to that!" yelled Jones "What's Sounder got? Give him roomdon't run him down. Easy

Sounder suddenly broke down a trail. Moze howled, Don barked, and Tige let out his staccato yelp. They ran

through the brush here, there, every where. Then all at once old Jude chimed in with her mellow voice, and

"Here, Colonel, here's the bush Sounder smelt and there's a sandy trail under it," I called.

"There go Don an' Tige down into the break' cried Frank. "They've got a hot scent!"

Jones stooped over the place I designated, to jerk up with reddening face, and as he flung himself into the

We all heard Sounder, and at the moment of Jones's discovery, Moze got the scent and plunged ahead of us.

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" yelled the Colonel. Frank sent Spot forward like a white streak. Sounder called to us in

irresistible bays, which Moze answered, and then crippled Jude bayed in baffled impotent distress.

The atmosphere was charged with that lion. As if by magic, the excitation communicated itself to all, and

men, horses and dogs acted in accord. The ride through the forest had been a jaunt. This was a steeplechase, a

mad, heedless, perilous, glorious race. And we had for a pacemaker a cowboy mounted on a tireless mustang.

Always it seemed to me, while the wind rushed, the brush whipped, I saw Frank far ahead, sitting his saddle

as if glued there, holding his reins loosely forward. To see him ride so was a beautiful sight. Jones let out his

Comanche yell at every dozen jumps and Wallace sent back a thrilling "Waahooo!" In the excitement I had

again checked my horse, and when Jones remembered, and loosed the bridle, how the noble animal

responded! The pace he settled into dazed me; I could hardly distinguish the deer trail down which he was

thundering. I lost my comrades ahead; the pinyons blurred in my sight; I only faintly heard the hounds. It

occurred to me we were making for the breaks, but I did not think of checking Satan. I thought only of flying

"On! On! old fellow! Stretch out! Never lose this race! We've got to be there at the finish!" I called to Satan,

The brush pounded my legs and clutched and tore my clothes; the wind whistled; the pinyon branches cut and

whipped my face. Once I dodged to the left, as Satan swerved to the right, with the result that I flew out of

the saddle, and crashed into a pinyon tree, which marvelously brushed me back into the saddle. The wild yells

and deep bays sounded nearer. Satan tripped and plunged down, throwing me as gracefully as an aerial

tumbler wings his flight. I alighted in a bush, without feeling of scratch or pain. As Satan recovered and ran

past, I did not seek to make him stop, but getting a good grip on the pommel, I vaulted up again. Once more

he raced like a wild mustang. And from nearer and nearer in front pealed the alluring sounds of the chase.

Satan was creeping close to Wallace and Jones, with Frank looming white through the occasional pinyons.

Then all dropped out of sight, to appear again suddenly. They had reached the first break. Soon I was upon it.

Two deer ran out of the ravine, almost brushing my horse in the haste. Satan went down and up in a few giant

strides. Only the narrow ridge separated us from another break. It was up and down then for Satan, a work to

which he manfully set himself. Occasionally I saw Wallace and Jones, but heard them oftener. All the time

the breaks grew deeper, till finally Satan had to zigzag his way down and up. Discouragement fastened on

me, when from the summit of the next ridge I saw Frank far down the break, with Jones and Wallace not a

quarter of a mile away from him. I sent out a long, exultant yell as Satan crashed into the hard, dry wash in

I knew from the way he quickened under me that he intended to overhaul somebody. Perhaps because of the

clear going, or because my frenzy had cooled to a thrilling excitement which permitted detail, I saw clearly

and distinctly the speeding horsemen down the ravine. I picked out the smooth pieces of ground ahead, and

with the slightest touch of the rein on his neck, guided Satan into them. How he ran! The light, quick beats of

his hoofs were regular, pounding. Seeing Jones and Wallace sail high into the air, I knew they had jumped a

ditch. Thus prepared, I managed to stick on when it yawned before me; and Satan, never slackening, leaped

Dust began to settle in little clouds before me; Frank, far ahead, had turned his mustang up the side of the

break; Wallace, within hailing distance, now turned to wave me a hand. The rushing wind fairly sang in my

ears; the walls of the break were confused blurs of yellow and green; at every stride Satan seemed to swallow

Jones began to scale the ravine, heading up obliquely far on the side of where Frank had vanished, and as

Wallace followed suit, I turned Satan. I caught Wallace at the summit, and we raced together out upon

another flat of pinyon. We heard Frank and Jones yelling in a way that caused us to spur our horses

frantically. Spot, gleaming white near a clump of green pinyons, was our guiding star. That last quarter of a

As our mounts crashed back with stiff forelegs and haunches, Wallace and I leaped off and darted into the

clump of pinyons, whence issued a hairraising medley of yells and barks. I saw Jones, then Frank, both

"Look there!" rang in my ear, and Jones smashed me on the back with a blow, which at any ordinary time

In a low, stubby pinyon tree, scarce twenty feet from us, was a tawny form. An enormous mountain lion, as

large as an African lioness, stood planted with huge, round legs on two branches; and he faced us gloomily,

neither frightened nor fierce. He watched the running dogs with pale, yellow eyes, waved his massive head

"It's Old Tom! sure as you're born! It's Old Tom!" yelled Jones. "There's no two lions like that in one country.

Hold still now. Jude is here, and she'll see him, she'll show him to the other hounds. Hold still!"

We heard Jude coming at a fast pace for a lame dog, and we saw her presently, running with her nose down

for a moment, then up. She entered the clump of trees, and bumped her nose against the pinyon Old Tom was

in, and looked up like a dog that knew her business. The series of wild howls she broke into quickly brought

Sounder and Moze to her side. They, too, saw the big lion, not fifteen feet over their heads.

Moze had begun to climb the thick, manybranched, low pinyon tree. He paid not the slightest attention to

"Cover the lion!" cried he to me. "Don't shoot unless he crouches to jump on me."

The little beaded frontsight wavered slightly as I held my rifle leveled at the grim, snarling face, and out of

the corner of my eye, as it were, I saw Jones dash in under the lion and grasp Moze by the hind leg and haul

him down. He broke from Jones and leaped again to the first low branch. His master then grasped his collar

"Boys, we can't keep Tom up there. When he jumps, keep out of his way. Maybe we can chase him up a

Old Tom suddenly left the branches, swinging violently; and hitting the ground like a huge cat on springs, he

bounded off, tail up, in a most ludicrous manner. His running, however, did not lack speed, for he quickly

A stampede for horses succeeded this move. I had difficulty in closing my camera, which I had forgotten

until the last moment, and got behind the others. Satan sent the dust flying and the pinyon branches crashing.

Hardly had I time to bewail my illluck in being left, when I dashed out of a thick growth of trees to come

"He's gone down! He's gone down!" raged Jones, stamping the ground. "What luck! What miserable luck!

But don't quit; spread along the rim, boys, and look for him. Cougars can't fly. There's a break in the rim

The rock wall, on which we dizzily stood, dropped straight down for a thousand feet, to meet a long,

pinyoncovered slope, which graded a mile to cut off into what must have been the second wall. We were far

west of Clarke's trail now, and faced a point above where Kanab Canyon, a red gorge a mile deep, met the

great canyon. As I ran along the rim, looking for a fissure or break, my gaze seemed impellingly drawn by the

immensity of this thing I could not name, and for which I had as yet no intelligible emotion.

Two "Waahoos" in the rear turned me back in doublequick time, and hastening by the horses, I found the

The break was wedgeshaped, with the sharp end off toward the rim, and it descended so rapidly as to appear

almost perpendicular. It was a long, steep slide of small, weathered shale, and a place that no man in his right

senses would ever have considered going down. But Jones, designating Frank and me, said in his cool, quick

"You fellows go down. Take Jude and Sounder in leash. If you find his trail below along the wall, yell for us.

Going down, in one sense, was much easier than had appeared, for the reason that once started we moved on

sliding beds of weathered stone. Each of us now had an avalanche for a steed. Frank forged ahead with a roar,

and then seeing danger below, tried to get out of the mass. But the stones were like quicksand; every step he

took sunk him in deeper. He grasped the smooth cliff, to find holding impossible. The slide poured over a fall

like so much water. He reached and caught a branch of a pinyon, and lifting his feet up, hung on till the

While I had been absorbed in his predicament, my avalanche augmented itself by slide on slide, perhaps

loosened by his; and before I knew it, I was sailing down with everincreasing momentum. The sensation

was distinctly pleasant, and a certain spirit, before restrained in me, at last ran riot. The slide narrowed at the

drop where Frank had jumped, and the stones poured over in a stream. I jumped also, but having a rifle in one

hand, failed to hold, and plunged down into the slide again. My feet were held this time, as in a vise. I kept

myself upright and waited. Fortunately, the jumble of loose stone slowed and stopped, enabling me to crawl

over to one side where there was comparatively good footing. Below us, for fifty yards was a sheet of rough

stone, as bare as washed granite well could be. We slid down this in regular schoolboy fashion, and had

reached another restricted neck in the fissure, when a sliding crash above warned us that the avalanches had

decided to move of their own free will. Only a fraction of a moment had we to find footing along the yellow

cliff, when, with a cracking roar, the mass struck the slippery granite. If we had been on that slope, our lives

would not have been worth a grain of the dust flying in clouds above us. Huge stones, that had formed the

bottom of the slides, shot ahead, and rolling, leaping, whizzed by us with frightful velocity, and the remainder

groaned and growled its way down, to thunder over the second fall and die out in a distant rumble.

The hounds had hung back, and were not easily coaxed down to us. From there on, down to the base of the

The wall of yellow limestone had shelves, ledges, fissures and cracks, any one of which might have

concealed a lion. On these places I turned dark, uneasy glances. It seemed to me events succeeded one

another so rapidly that I had no time to think, to examine, to prepare. We were rushed from one sensation to

"Gee! look here," said Frank; "here's his tracks. Did you ever see the like of that?"

Certainly I had never fixed my eyes on such enormous cattracks as appeared in the yellow dust at the base

From far above came a yell, which, though thinned out by distance, was easily recognized as Jones's. We

returned to the opening of the break, and throwing our heads back, looked up the slide to see him coming

With the same roar and crack and slide of rocks as had attended our descent, Jones bore down on us. For an

old man it was a marvelous performance. He walked on the avalanches as though he wore sevenleague

boots, and presently, as we began to dodge whizzing bowlders, he stepped down to us, whirling his coiled

"Boys, we've got Old Tom in a corner. I worked along the rim north and looked over every place I could.

Now, maybe you won't believe it, but I heard him pant. Yes, sir, he panted like the tired lion he is. Well,

presently I saw him lying along the base of the rim wall. His tongue was hanging out. You see, he's a heavy

lion, and not used to running long distances. Come on, now. It's not far. Hold in the dogs. You there with the

Single file, we passed along in the shadow of the great cliff. A wide trail had been worn in the dust.

Indeed, the strong odor of cat was very pronounced; and that, without the big fresh tracks, made the skin on

my face tighten and chill. As we turned a jutting point in the wall, a number of animals, which I did not

"Rocky Mountain sheep!" exclaimed Jones. "Look! Well, this is a discovery. I never heard of a bighorn in the

It was indicative of the strong grip Old Tom had on us that we at once forgot the remarkable fact of coming

Jones halted us presently before a deep curve described by the rim wall, the extreme end of which terminated

We worked our way noiselessly along the rimwall curve for several hundred yards and came to a halt again,

this time with a splendid command of the situation. The trail ended abruptly at the dark cave, so menacingly

staring at us, and the corner of the cliff had curled back upon itself. It was a boxtrap, with a drop at the end,

too great for any beast, a narrow slide of weathered stone running down, and the rim wall trail. Old Tom

would plainly be compelled to choose one of these directions if he left his cave.

"Frank, you and I will keep to the wall and stop near that scrub pinyon, this side of the hole. If I rope him, I

"I? What do you want me to do?" I demanded, and my whole breast seemed to sink in.

"You cut across the head of this slope and take up your position in the slide below the cave, say just by that

big stone. From there you can command the cave, our position and your own. Now, if it is necessary to kill

this lion to save me or Frank, or, of course, yourself, can you be depended upon to kill him?"

I felt a queer sensation around my heart and a strange tightening of the skin upon my face! What a position

for me to be placed in! For one instant I shook like a quivering aspen leaf. Then because of the pride of a

man, or perhaps inherited instincts cropping out at this perilous moment, I looked up and answered quietly:

"Old Tom is cornered, and he'll come out. He can run only two ways: along this trail, or down that slide. I'll

take my stand by the scrub pinyon there so I can get a hitch if I rope him. Frank, when I give the word, let the

dogs go. Grey, you block the slide. If he makes at us, even if I do get my rope on him, kill him! Most likely

he'll jump down hillthen you'll HAVE to kill him! Be quick. Now loose the hounds. Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

I jumped into the narrow slide of weathered stone and looked up. Jones's stentorian yell rose high above the

A huge yellow form shot over the trail and hit the top of the slide with a crash. The lasso streaked out with

arrowy swiftness, circled, and snapped viciously close to Old Tom's head. "Kill him! Kill him!" roared Jones.

Then the lion leaped, seemingly into the air above me. Instinctively I raised my little automatic rifle. I seemed

to hear a million bellowing reports. The tawny body, with its grim, snarling face, blurred in my sight. I heard

a roar of sliding stones at my feet. I felt a rush of wind. I caught a confused glimpse of a whirling wheel of

Then Jones and Frank were pounding me, and yelling I know not what. From far above came floating down a

long "Waahoo!" I saw Wallace silhouetted against the blue sky. I felt the hot barrel of my rifle, and

shuddered at the bloody stones below methen, and then only, did I realize, with weakening legs, that Old

Old Tom had rolled two hundred yards down the canyon, leaving a red trail and bits of fur behind him. When

I had clambered down to the steep slide where he had lodged, Sounder and Jude had just decided he was no

longer worth biting, and were wagging their tails. Frank was shaking his head, and Jones, standing above the

"I reckon we'd be gatherin' up the pieces of you if you had," said Frank, dryly.

We skinned the old king on the rocky slope of his mighty throne, and then, beginning to feel the effects of

severe exertion, we cut across the slope for the foot of the break. Once there, we gazed up in disarray. That

break resembled a walk of lifehow easy to slip down, how hard to climb! Even Frank, inured as he was to

strenuous toil, began to swear and wipe his sweaty brow before we had made onetenth of the ascent. It was

particularly exasperating, not to mention the danger of it, to work a few feet up a slide, and then feel it start to

move. We had to climb in single file, which jeopardized the safety of those behind the leader. Sometimes we

were all sliding at once, like boys on a pond, with the difference that we were in danger. Frank forged ahead,

turning to yell now and then for us to dodge a cracking stone. Faithful old Jude could not get up in some

places, so laying aside my rifle, I carried her, and returned for the weapon. It became necessary, presently, to

hide behind cliff projections to escape the avalanches started by Frank, and to wait till he had surmounted the

break. Jones gave out completely several times, saying the exertion affected his heart. What with my rifle, my

camera and Jude, I could offer him no assistance, and was really in need of that myself. When it seemed as if

one more step would kill us, we reached the rim, and fell panting with labored chests and dripping skins. We

could not speak. Jones had worn a pair of ordinary shoes without thick soles and nails, and it seemed well to

speak of them in the past tense. They were split into ribbons and hung on by the laces. His feet were cut and

On the way back to camp, we encountered Moze and Don coming out of the break where we had started

Sounder on the trail. The paws of both hounds were yellow with dust, which proved they had been down

Upon examination, this break proved to be one of the two which Clarke used for trails to his wild horse corral

in the canyon. According to him, the distance separating them was five miles by the rim wall, and less than

half that in a straight line. Therefore, we made for the point of the forest where it ended abruptly in the scrub

oak. We got into camp, a fatigued lot of men, horses and dogs. Jones appeared particularly happy, and his

"Shore it do beat hell!" exclaimed Jim in tones nearer to excitement than any I had ever heard him use.

"Old Tom beats, by two inches, any cougar I ever saw," continued Jones. "He must have weighed more than

three hundred. We'll set about curing the hide. Jim, stretch it well on a tree, and we'll take a hand in peeling

All of the party worked on the cougar skin that afternoon. The gristle at the base of the neck, where it met the

shoulders, was so tough and thick we could not scrape it thin. Jones said this particular spot was so well

protected because in fighting, cougars were most likely to bite and claw there. For that matter, the whole skin

was tough, tougher than leather; and when it dried, it pulled all the horseshoe nails out of the pine tree upon

About time for the sun to set, I strolled along the rim wall to look into the canyon. I was beginning to feel

something of its character and had growing impressions. Dark purple smoke veiled the clefts deep down

between the mesas. I walked along to where points of cliff ran out like capes and peninsulas, all seamed,

cracked, wrinkled, scarred and yellow with age, with shattered, toppling ruins of rocks ready at a touch to go

thundering down. I could not resist the temptation to crawl out to the farthest point, even though I shuddered

over the yardwide ridges; and when once seated on a bare promontory, two hundred feet from the regular

The sun, a liquid red globe, had just touched its under side to the pink cliffs of Utah, and fired a crimson

flood of light over the wonderful mountains, plateaus, escarpments, mesas, domes and turrets or the gorge.

The rim wall of Powell's Plateau was a thin streak of fire; the timber above like grass of gold; and the long

slopes below shaded from bright to dark. Point Sublime, bold and bare, ran out toward the plateau, jealously

reaching for the sun. Bass's Tomb peeped over the Saddle. The Temple of Vishnu lay bathed in vapory

The beginning of the wondrous transformation, the dropping of the day's curtain, was for me a rare and

perfect moment. As the golden splendor of sunset sought out a peak or mesa or escarpment, I gave it a name

to suit my fancy; and as flushing, fading, its glory changed, sometimes I rechristened it. Jupiter's Chariot,

brazen wheeled, stood ready to roll into the clouds. Semiramis's Bed, all gold, shone from a tower of

Babylon. Castor and Pollux clasped hands over a Stygian river. The Spur of Doom, a mountain shaft as red as

hell, and inaccessible, insurmountable, lured with strange light. Dusk, a bold, black dome, was shrouded by

the shadow of a giant mesa. The Star of Bethlehem glittered from the brow of Point Sublime. The Wraith,

fleecy, feathered curtain of mist, floated down among the ruins of castles and palaces, like the ghost of a

goddess. Vales of Twilight, dim, dark ravines, mystic homes of specters, led into the awful Valley of the

Suddenly, as the first puff of the night wind fanned my cheek, a strange, sweet, low moaning and sighing

came to my ears. I almost thought I was in a dream. But the canyon, now bloodred, was there in

overwhelming reality, a profound, solemn, gloomy thing, but real. The wind blew stronger, and then I was to

a sad, sweet song, which lulled as the wind lulled. I realized at once that the sound was caused by the wind

blowing into the peculiar formations of the cliffs. It changed, softened, shaded, mellowed, but it was always

sad. It rose from low, tremulous, sweetly quavering sighs, to a sound like the last woeful, despairing wail of a

woman. It was the song of the sea sirens and the music of the waves; it had the soft sough of the night wind

With reluctance I turned my back to the gorgeously changing spectacle of the canyon and crawled in to the

rim wall. At the narrow neck of stone I peered over to look down into misty blue nothingness.

That night Jones told stories of frightened hunters, and assuaged my mortification by saying "buckfever"

was pardonable after the danger had passed, and especially so in my case, because of the great size and fame

"The worst case of buckfever I ever saw was on a buffalo hunt I had with a fellow named Williams," went

on Jones. "I was one of the scouts leading a wagontrain west on the old Santa Fe trail. This fellow said he

was a big hunter, and wanted to kill buffalo, so I took him out. I saw a herd making over the prairie for a

hollow where a brook ran, and by hard work, got in ahead of them. I picked out a position just below the edge

of the bank, and we lay quiet, waiting. From the direction of the buffalo, I calculated we'd be just about right

to get a shot at no very long range. As it was, I suddenly heard thumps on the ground, and cautiously raising

my head, saw a huge buffalo bull just over us, not fifteen feet up the bank. I whispered to Williams: 'For

God's sake, don't shoot, don't move!' The bull's little fiery eyes snapped, and he reared. I thought we were

goners, for when a bull comes down on anything with his forefeet, it's done for. But he slowly settled back,

perhaps doubtful. Then, as another buffalo came to the edge of the bank, luckily a little way from us, the bull

turned broadside, presenting a splendid target. Then I whispered to Williams: "Now's your chance. Shoot!' I

waited for the shot, but none came. Looking at Williams, I saw he was white and trembling. Big drops of

sweat stood out on his brow his teeth chattered, and his hands shook. He had forgotten he carried a rifle."

"That reminds me," said Frank. "They tell a story over at Kanab on a Dutchman named Schmitt. He was very

fond of huntin', an' I guess had pretty good success after deer an' small game. One winter he was out in the

Pink Cliffs with a Mormon named Shoonover, an' they run into a lammin' big grizzly track, fresh an' wet.

They trailed him to a clump of chaparral, an' on goin' clear round it, found no tracks leadin' out. Shoonover

said Schmitt commenced to sweat. They went back to the place where the trail led in, an' there they were,

great big silver tip tracks, bigger'n hosstracks, so fresh thet water was oozin' out of 'em. Schmitt said: 'Zake,

Happy as we were over the chase of Old Tom, and our prospects for Sounder, Jude and Moze had seen a lion

in a treewe sought our blankets early. I lay watching the bright stars, and listening to the roar of the wind

in the pines. At intervals it lulled to a whisper, and then swelled to a roar, and then died away. Far off in the

forest a coyote barked once. Time and time again, as I was gradually sinking into slumber, the sudden roar of

the wind startled me. I imagined it was the crash of rolling, weathered stone, and I saw again that huge

I awoke sometime later to find Moze had sought the warmth of my side, and he lay so near my arm that I

reached out and covered him with an end of the blanket I used to break the wind. It was very cold and the

time must have been very late, for the wind had died down, and I heard not a tinkle from the hobbled horses.

The absence of the cowbell music gave me a sense of loneliness, for without it the silence of the great forest

This oppressiveness, however, was broken by a fardistant cry, unlike any sound I had ever heard. Not sure

of myself, I freed my ears from the blanketed hood and listened. It came again, a wild cry, that made me think

first of a lost child, and then of the mourning wolf of the north. It must have been a long distance off in the

forest. An interval of some moments passed, then it pealed out again, nearer this time, and so human that it

startled me. Moze raised his head and growled low in his throat and sniffed the keen air.

"I heard the cry of some beast," I said, "And it was so weird, so strange. I want to know what it was."

Such a long silence ensued that I began to despair of hearing the cry again, when, with a suddenness which

straightened the hair on my head, a wailing shriek, exactly like a despairing woman might give in death

Their howling roused the rest of the party, and no doubt scared the cougar, for his womanish screech was not

"I think that cougar just came up over the rim on a scouting hunt, and I'm going to go down to the head of the

trail and stay there till morning. If he returns that way, I'll put him up a tree."

With this, he unchained Sounder and Don, and stalked off under the trees, looking like an Indian. Once the

deep bay of Sounder rang out; Jones's sharp command followed, and then the familiar silence encompassed

When I awoke all was gray, except toward the canyon, where the little bit of sky I saw through the pines

glowed a delicate pink. I crawled out on the instant, got into my boots and coat, and kicked the smoldering

"I'm going to see the sunrise from the north rim of the Grand Canon," I said, and knew when I spoke that very

few men, out of all the millions of travelers, had ever seen this, probably the most surpassingly beautiful

pageant in the world. At most, only a few geologists, scientists, perhaps an artist or two, and horse wranglers,

hunters and prospectors have ever reached the rim on the north side; and these men, crossing from Bright

Angel or Mystic Spring trails on the south rim, seldom or never get beyond Powell's Plateau.

The frost cracked under my boots like frail ice, and the bluebells peeped wanly from the white. When I

reached the head of Clarke's trail it was just daylight; and there, under a pine, I found Jones rolled in his

blankets, with Sounder and Moze asleep beside him. I turned without disturbing him, and went along the

I saw deer off in the woods, and tarrying, watched them throw up graceful heads, and look and listen. The

soft pink glow through the pines deepened to rose, and suddenly I caught a point of red fire. Then I hurried to

the place I had named Singing Cliffs, and keeping my eyes fast on the stone beneath me, trawled out to the

The awfulness of sudden death and the glory of heaven stunned me! The thing that had been mystery at

twilight, lay clear, pure, open in the rosy hue of dawn. Out of the gates of the morning poured a light which

glorified the palaces and pyramids, purged and purified the afternoon's inscrutable clefts, swept away the

shadows of the mesas, and bathed that broad, deep world of mighty mountains, stately spars of rock,

sculptured cathedrals and alabaster terraces in an artist's dream of color. A pearl from heaven had burst,

flinging its heart of fire into this chasm. A stream of opal flowed out of the sun, to touch each peak, mesa,

dome, parapet, temple and tower, cliff and cleft into the newborn life of another day.

I sat there for a long time and knew that every second the scene changed, yet I could not tell how. I knew I sat

high over a hole of broken, splintered, barren mountains; I knew I could see a hundred miles of the length of

it, and eighteen miles of the width of it, and a mile of the depth of it, and the shafts and rays of rose light on a

million glancing, manyhued surfaces at once; but that knowledge was no help to me. I repeated a lot of

meaningless superlatives to myself, and I found words inadequate and superfluous. The spectacle was too

I tried to call up former favorite views of mountain and sea, so as to compare them with this; but the memory

pictures refused to come, even with my eyes closed. Then I returned to camp, with unsettled, troubled mind,

Jones talked about our visitor of the night before, and said the trail near where he had slept showed only one

cougar track, and that led down into the canyon. It had surely been made, he thought, by the beast we had

heard. Jones signified his intention of chaining several of the hounds for the next few nights at the head of

this trail; so if the cougar came up, they would scent him and let us know. From which it was evident that to

The day passed lazily, with all of us resting on the warm, fragrant pineneedle beds, or mending a rent in a

About four o'clock, I took my little rifle and walked off through the woods in the direction of the carcass

where I had seen the gray wolf. Thinking it best to make a wide detour, so as to face the wind, I circled till I

felt the breeze was favorable to my enterprise, and then cautiously approached the hollow were the dead

horse lay. Indian fashion, I slipped from tree to tree, a mode of forest travel not without its fascination and

effectiveness, till I reached the height of a knoll beyond which I made sure was my objective point. On

peeping out from behind the last pine, I found I had calculated pretty well, for there was the hollow, the big

windfall, with its round, starfishshaped roots exposed to the bright sun, and near that, the carcass. Sure

But he presented an exceedingly difficult shot. Backing down the ridge, I ran a little way to come up behind

another tree, from which I soon shifted to a fallen pine. Over this I peeped, to get a splendid view of the wolf.

He had stopped tugging at the horse, and stood with his nose in the air. Surely he could not have scented me,

for the wind was strong from him to me; neither could he have heard my soft footfalls on the pine needles;

nevertheless, he was suspicious. Loth to spoil the picture he made, I risked a chance, and waited. Besides,

though I prided myself on being able to take a fair aim, I had no great hope that I could hit him at such a

distance. Presently he returned to his feeding, but not for long. Soon he raised his long, finepointed head,

and trotted away a few yards, stopped to sniff again, then went back to his gruesome work.

At this juncture, I noiselessly projected my rifle barrel over the log. I had not, however, gotten the sights in

line with him, when he trotted away reluctantly, and ascended the knoll on his side of the hollow. I lost him,

and had just begun sourly to call myself a mollycoddle hunter, when he reappeared. He halted in an open

glade, on the very crest of the knoll, and stood still as a statue wolf, a white, inspiriting target, against a dark

green background. I could not stifle a rush of feeling, for I was a lover of the beautiful first, and a hunter

secondly; but I steadied down as the front sight moved into the notch through which I saw the black and

Spang! How the little Remington sang! I watched closely, ready to send five more missiles after the gray

beast. He jumped spasmodically, in a halfcurve, high in the air, with loosely hanging head, then dropped in

a heap. I yelled like a boy, ran down the hill, up the other side of the hollow, to find him stretched out dead, a

small hole in his shoulder where the bullet had entered, a great one where it had come out.

The job I made of skinning him lacked some hundred degrees the perfection of my shot, but I accomplished

"Shore I knowed you'd plunk him," said Jim very much pleased. "I shot one the other day same way, when he

was feedin' off a dead horse. Now thet's a fine skin. Shore you cut through once or twice. But he's only half

lofer, the other half in plain coyote. Thet accounts fer his feedin' on dead meat."

My naturalist host and my scientific friend both remarked somewhat grumpily that I seemed to get the best of

all the good things. I might have retaliated that I certainly had gotten the worst of all the bad jokes; but, being

generously happy over my prize, merely remarked: "If you want fame or wealth or wolves, go out and hunt

Five o'clock supper left a good margin of day, in which my thoughts reverted to the canyon. I watched the

purple shadows stealing out of their caverns and rolling up about the base of the mesas. Jones came over to

where I stood, and I persuaded him to walk with me along the rim wall. Twilight had stealthily advanced

when we reached the Singing Cliffs, and we did not go out upon my promontory, but chose a more

"You cannot accept the theory of erosion to account for this chasm?" I asked my companion, referring to a

"I can for this part of it. But what stumps me is the mountain range three thousand feet high, crossing the

desert and the canyon just above where we crossed the river. How did the river cut through that without the

"I'll admit that is a poser to me as well as to you. But I suppose Wallace could explain it as erosion. He claims

this whole western country was once under water, except the tips of the Sierra Nevada mountains. There

came an uplift of the earth's crust, and the great inland sea began to run out, presumably by way of the

Colorado. In so doing it cut out the upper canyon, this gorge eighteen miles wide. Then came a second uplift,

giving the river a much greater impetus toward the sea, which cut out the second, or marble canyon. Now as

to the mountain range crossing the canyon at right angles. It must have come with the second uplift. If so, did

it dam the river back into another inland sea, and then wear down into that red perpendicular gorge we

remember so well? Or was there a great break in the fold of granite, which let the river continue on its way?

Or was there, at that particular point, a softer stone, like this limestone here, which erodes easily?"

"Well, let's not perplex our minds with its origin. It is, and that's enough for any mind. Ah! listen! Now you

From out of the darkening shadows murmurs rose on the softly rising wind. This strange music had a

depressing influence; but it did not fill the heart with sorrow, only touched it lightly. And when, with the

dying breeze, the song died away, it left the lonely crags lonelier for its death.

The last rosy gleam faded from the tip of Point Sublime; and as if that were a signal, in all the clefts and

canyons below, purple, shadowy clouds marshaled their forces and began to sweep upon the battlements, to

swing colossal wings into amphitheaters where gods might have warred, slowly to enclose the magical

sentinels. Night intervened, and a moving, changing, silent chaos pulsated under the bright stars.

"To me it is very simple," replied my comrade. "The world is strange. But this canyonwhy, we can see it

all! I can't make out why people fuss so over it. I only feel peace. It's only bold and beautiful, serene and

With the words of this quiet old plainsman, my sentimental passion shrank to the true appreciation of the

scene. Self passed out to the recurring, soft strains of cliff song. I had been reveling in a species of

indulgence, imagining I was a great lover of nature, building poetical illusions over stormbeaten peaks. The

truth, told by one who had lived fifty years in the solitudes, among the rugged mountains, under the dark

trees, and by the sides of the lonely streams, was the simple interpretation of a spirit in harmony with the

He meant the Grand Canyon was only a mood of nature, a bold promise, a beautiful record. He meant that

mountains had sifted away in its dust, yet the canyon was young. Man was nothing, so let him be humble.

This cataclysm of the earth, this playground of a river was not inscrutable; it was only inevitableas

inevitable as nature herself. Millions of years in the bygone ages it had lain serene under a half moon; it

It taught simplicity, serenity, peace. The eye that saw only the strife, the war, the decay, the ruin, or only the

glory and the tragedy, saw not all the truth. It spoke simply, though its words were grand: "My spirit is the

Spirit of Time, of Eternity, of God. Man is little, vain, vaunting. Listen. Tomorrow he shall be gone. Peace!

As we rode up the slope of Buckskin, the sunrise glinted redgold through the aisles of frosted pines, giving

With all due respect to, and appreciation of, the breaks of the Siwash, we unanimously decided that if cougars

inhabited any other section of canyon country, we preferred it, and were going to find it. We had often

speculated on the appearance of the rim wall directly across the neck of the canyon upon which we were

located. It showed a long stretch of breaks, fissures, caves, yellow crags, crumbled ruins and clefts green with

pinyon pine. As a crow flies, it was only a mile or two straight across from camp, but to reach it, we had to

A thousand feet or more above the level bench, the character of the forest changed; the pines grew thicker,

and interspersed among them were silver spruces and balsams. Here in the clumps of small trees and

underbrush, we began to jump deer, and in a few moments a greater number than I had ever seen in all my

hunting experiences loped within range of my eye. I could not look out into the forest where an aisle or lane

or glade stretched to any distance, without seeing a big gray deer cross it. Jones said the herds had recently

come up from the breaks, where they had wintered. These deer were twice the size of the Eastern species, and

as fat as wellfed cattle. They were almost as tame, too. A big herd ran out of one glade, leaving behind

several curious does, which watched us intently for a moment, then bounded off with the stiff, springy

Sounder crossed fresh trails one after another; Jude, Tige and Ranger followed him, but hesitated often,

barked and whined; Don started off once, to come sneaking back at Jones's stern call. But surly old Moze

either would not or could not obey, and away he dashed. Bang! Jones sent a charge of fine shot after him. He

"Hyar, you white and black coon dog," said Jones, "get in behind, and stay there."

We turned to the right after a while and got among shallow ravines. Gigantic pines grew on the ridges and in

the hollows, and everywhere bluebells shone blue from the white frost. Why the frost did not kill these

beautiful flowers was a mystery to me. The horses could not step without crushing them.

Before long, the ravines became so deep that we had to zigzag up and down their sides, and to force our

horses through the aspen thickets in the hollows. Once from a ridge I saw a troop of deer, and stopped to

watch them. Twentyseven I counted outright, but there must have been three times that number. I saw the

herd break across a glade, and watched them until they were lost in the forest. My companions having

disappeared, I pushed on, and while working out of a wide, deep hollow, I noticed the sunny patches fade

from the bright slopes, and the golden streaks vanish among the pines. The sky had become overcast, and the

forest was darkening. The "Waahoo," I cried out returned in echo only. The wind blew hard in my face, and

Satan had carried me no farther than the next ridge, when the forest frowned dark as twilight, and on the wind

whirled flakes of snow. Over the next hollow, a white pall roared through the trees toward me. Hardly had I

time to get the direction of the trail, and its relation to the trees nearby, when the storm enfolded me. Of his

own accord Satan stopped in the lee of a bushy spruce. The roar in the pines equaled that of the cave under

Niagara, and the bewildering, whirling mass of snow was as difficult to see through as the tumbling, seething

I was confronted by the possibility of passing the night there, and calming my fears as best I could, hastily

felt for my matches and knife. The prospect of being lost the next day in a white forest was also appalling, but

I soon reassured myself that the storm was only a snow squall, and would not last long. Then I gave myself

up to the pleasure and beauty of it. I could only faintly discern the dim trees; the limbs of the spruce, which

partially protected me, sagged down to my head with their burden; I had but to reach out my hand for a

snowball. Both the wind and snow seemed warm. The great flakes were like swan feathers on a summer

breeze. There was something joyous in the whirl of snow and roar of wind. While I bent over to shake my

holster, the storm passed as suddenly as it had come. When I looked up, there were the pines, like pillars of

Parian marble, and a white shadow, a vanishing cloud fled, with receding roar, on the wings of the wind. Fast

I faced my course, and was delighted to see, through an opening where the ravine cut out of the forest, the

redtipped peaks of the canyon, and the vaulted dome I had named St. Marks. As I started, a new and

unexpected afterfeature of the storm began to manifest itself. The sun being warm, even to melt the snow,

and under the trees a heavy rain fell, and in the glades and hollows a fine mist blew. Exquisite rainbows hung

from whitetipped branches and curved over the hollows. Glistening patches of snow fell from the pines, and

In a quarter of an hour, I rode out of the forest to the rim wall on dry ground. Against the green pinyons

Frank's white horse stood out conspicuously, and near him browsed the mounts of Jim and Wallace. The boys

were not in evidence. Concluding they had gone down over the rim, I dismounted and kicked off my chaps,

To my surprise and interest, I found a long section of rim wall in ruins. It lay in a great curve between the two

giant capes; and many short, sharp, projecting promontories, like the teeth of a saw, overhung the canyon.

The slopes between these points of cliff were covered with a deep growth of pinyon, and in these places

descent would be easy. Everywhere in the corrugated wall were rents and rifts; cliffs stood detached like

islands near a shore; yellow crags rose out of green clefts; jumble of rocks, and slides of rim wall, broken into

The singular raggedness and wildness of the scene took hold of me, and was not dispelled until the baying of

Sounder and Don roused action in me. Apparently the hounds were widely separated. Then I heard Jim's yell.

But it ceased when the wind lulled, and I heard it no more. Running back from the point, I began to go down.

The way was steep, almost perpendicular; but because of the great stones and the absence of slides, was easy.

I took long strides and jumps, and slid over rocks, and swung on pinyon branches, and covered distance like a

rolling stone. At the foot of the rim wall, or at a line where it would have reached had it extended regularly,

the slope became less pronounced. I could stand up without holding on to a support. The largest pinyons I

had seen made a forest that almost stood on end. These trees grew up, down, and out, and twisted in curves,

and many were two feet in thickness. During my descent, I halted at intervals to listen, and always heard one

of the hounds, sometimes several. But as I descended for a long time, and did not get anywhere or approach

A large pinyon, with a dead top, suggested a good outlook, so I climbed it, and saw I could sweep a large

section of the slope. It was a strange thing to look down hill, over the tips of green trees. Below, perhaps four

hundred yards, was a slide open for a long way; all the rest was green incline, with many dead branches

sticking up like spars, and an occasional crag. From this perch I heard the hounds; then followed a yell I

thought was Jim's, and after it the bellowing of Wallace's rifle. Then all was silent. The shots had effectually

checked the yelping of the hounds. I let out a yell. Another cougar that Jones would not lasso! All at once I

heard a familiar sliding of small rocks below me, and I watched the open slope with greedy eyes.

Not a bit surprised was I to see a cougar break out of the green, and go tearing down the slide. In less than six

seconds, I had sent six steeljacketed bullets after him. Puffs of dust rose closer and closer to him as each

bullet went nearer the mark and the last showered him with gravel and turned him straight down the canyon

I slid down the dead pinyon and jumped nearly twenty feet to the soft sand below, and after putting a loaded

clip in my rifle, began kangaroo leaps down the slope. When I reached the point where the cougar had

entered the slide, I called the hounds, but they did not come nor answer me. Notwithstanding my excitement,

I appreciated the distance to the bottom of the slope before I reached it. In my haste, I ran upon the verge of a

precipice twice as deep as the first rim wall, but one glance down sent me shatteringly backward.

With all the breath I had left I yelled: "Waahoo! Waahoo!" From the echoes flung at me, I imagined at first

that my friends were right on my ears. But no real answer came. The cougar had probably passed along this

second rim wall to a break, and had gone down. His trail could easily be taken by any of the hounds. Vexed

and anxious, I signaled again and again. Once, long after the echo had gone to sleep in some hollow canyon, I

caught a faint "Waahooo!" But it might have come from the clouds. I did not hear a hound barking

above me on the slope; but suddenly, to my amazement, Sounder's deep bay rose from the abyss below. I ran

along the rim, called till I was hoarse, leaned over so far that the blood rushed to my head, and then sat down.

I concluded this canyon hunting could bear some sustained attention and thought, as well as frenzied action.

Examination of my position showed how impossible it was to arrive at any clear idea of the depth or size, or

condition of the canyon slopes from the main rim wall above. The second walla stupendous, yellowfaced

cliff two thousand feet highcurved to my left round to a point in front of me. The intervening canyon might

have been a half mile wide, and it might have been ten miles. I had become disgusted with judging distance.

The slope above this second wall facing me ran up far above my head; it fairly towered, and this routed all

my former judgments, because I remembered distinctly that from the rim this yellow and green mountain had

appeared an insignificant little ridge. But it was when I turned to gaze up behind me that I fully grasped the

immensity of the place. This wall and slope were the first two steps down the long stairway of the Grand

Canyon, and they towered over me, straight up a halfmile in dizzy height. To think of climbing it took my

Then again Sounder's bay floated distinctly to me, but it seemed to come from a different point. I turned my

ear to the wind, and in the succeeding moments I was more and more baffled. One bay sounded from below

and next from far to the right; another from the left. I could not distinguish voice from echo. The acoustic

properties of the amphitheater beneath me were too wonderful for my comprehension.

As the bay grew sharper, and correspondingly more significant, I became distracted, and focused a strained

vision on the canyon deeps. I looked along the slope to the notch where the wall curved and followed the base

line of the yellow cliff. Quite suddenly I saw a very small black object moving with snaillike slowness.

Although it seemed impossible for Sounder to be so small, I knew it was he. Having something now to judge

distance from, I conceived it to be a mile, without the drop. If I could hear Sounder, he could hear me, so I

yelled encouragement. The echoes clapped back at me like so many slaps in the face. I watched the hound

until he disappeared among broken heaps of stone, and long after that his bay floated to me.

Having rested, I essayed the discovery of some of my lost companions or the hounds, and began to climb.

Before I started, however, I was wise enough to study the rim wall above, to familiarize myself with the

break so I would have a landmark. Like horns and spurs of gold the pinnacles loomed up. Massed closely

together, they were not unlike an astounding pipeorgan. I had a feeling of my littleness, that I was lost, and

should devote every moment and effort to the saving of my life. It did not seem possible I could be hunting.

Though I climbed diagonally, and rested often, my heart pumped so hard I could hear it. A yellow crag, with

a round head like an old man's cane, appealed to me as near the place where I last heard from Jim, and toward

it I labored. Every time I glanced up, the distance seemed the same. A climb which I decided would not take

While resting at the foot of the crag, I heard more baying of hounds, but for my life I could not tell whether

the sound came from up or down, and I commenced to feel that I did not much care. Having signaled till I

was hoarse, and receiving none but mock answers, I decided that if my companions had not toppled over a

Another stiff pull up the slope brought me under the rim wall, and there I groaned, because the wall was

smooth and shiny, without a break. I plodded slowly along the base, with my rifle ready. Cougar tracks were

so numerous I got tired of looking at them, but I did not forget that I might meet a tawny fellow or two

among those narrow passes of shattered rock, and under the thick, dark pinyons. Going on in this way, I ran

pointblank into a pile of bleached bones before a cave. I had stumbled on the lair of a lion and from the

looks of it one like that of Old Tom. I flinched twice before I threw a stone into the darkmouthed cave.

What impressed me as soon as I found I was in no danger of being pawed and clawed round the gloomy spot,

was the fact of the bones being there. How did they come on a slope where a man could hardly walk? Only

one answer seemed feasible. The lion had made his kill one thousand feet above, had pulled his quarry to the

rim and pushed it over. In view of the theory that he might have had to drag his victim from the forest, and

that very seldom two lions worked together, the fact of the location of the bones as startling. Skulls of wild

horses and deer, antlers and countless bones, all crushed into shapelessness, furnished indubitable proof that

the carcasses had fallen from a great height. Most remarkable of all was the skeleton of a cougar lying across

that of a horse. I believedI could not help but believe that the cougar had fallen with his last victim.

Not many rods beyond the lion den, the rim wall split into towers, crags and pinnacles. I thought I had found

my pipe organ, and began to climb toward a narrow opening in the rim. But I lost it. The extraordinarily

cutup condition of the wall made holding to one direction impossible. Soon I realized I was lost in a

labyrinth. I tried to find my way down again, but the best I could do was to reach the verge of a cliff, from

which I could see the canyon. Then I knew where I was, yet I did not know, so I plodded wearily back. Many

a blind cleft did I ascend in the maze of crags. I could hardly crawl along, still I kept at it, for the place was

conducive to dire thoughts. A tower of Babel menaced me with tons of loose shale. A tower that leaned more

frightfully than the Tower of Pisa threatened to build my tomb. Many a lighthouseshaped crag sent down

After toiling in and out of passageways under the shadows of these strangely formed cliffs, and coming again

and again to the same point, a blind pocket, I grew desperate. I named the baffling place Deception Pass, and

then ran down a slide. I knew if I could keep my feet I could beat the avalanche. More by good luck than

management I outran the roaring stones and landed safely. Then rounding the cliff below, I found myself on a

narrow ledge, with a wall to my left, and to the right the tips of pinyon trees level with my feet.

Innocently and wearily I passed round a pillarlike corner of wall, to come face to face with an old lioness

and cubs. I heard the mother snarl, and at the same time her ears went back flat, and she crouched. The same

fire of yellow eyes, the same grim snarling expression so familiar in my mind since Old Tom had leaped at

My recent vow of extermination was entirely forgotten and one frantic spring carried me over the ledge.

Crash! I felt the brushing and scratching of branches, and saw a green blur. I went down straddling limbs and

hit the ground with a thump. Fortunately, I landed mostly on my feet, in sand, and suffered no serious bruise.

But I was stunned, and my right arm was numb for a moment. When I gathered myself together, instead of

being grateful the ledge had not been on the face of Point Sublimefrom which I would most assuredly have

Of course the cougars were far on their way by that time, and were telling neighbors about the brave hunter's

leap for life; so I devoted myself to further efforts to find an outlet. The niche I had jumped into opened

below, as did most of the breaks, and I worked out of it to the base of the rim wall, and tramped a long, long

mile before I reached my own trail leading down. Resting every five steps, I climbed and climbed. My rifle

grew to weigh a ton; my feet were lead; the camera strapped to my shoulder was the world. Soon climbing

meant trapeze worklong reach of arm, and pull of weight, high step of foot, and spring of body. Where I

had slid down with ease, I had to strain and raise myself by sheer muscle. I wore my left glove to tatters and

threw it away to put the right one on my left hand. I thought many times I could not make another move; I

thought my lungs would burst, but I kept on. When at last I surmounted the rim, I saw Jones, and flopped

down beside him, and lay panting, dripping, boiling, with scorched feet, aching limbs and numb chest.

"I've been here two hours," he said, "and I knew things were happening below; but to climb up that slide

would kill me. I am not young any more, and a steep climb like this takes a young heart. As it was I had

enough work. Look!" He called my attention to his trousers. They had been cut to shreds, and the right

trouser leg was missing from the knee down. His shin was bloody. "Moze took a lion along the rim, and I

went after him with all my horse could do. I yelled for the boys, but they didn't come. Right here it is easy to

go down, but below, where Moze started this lion, it was impossible to get over the rim. The lion lit straight

out of the pinyons. I lost ground because of the thick brush and numerous trees. Then Moze doesn't bark

often enough. He treed the lion twice. I could tell by the way he opened up and bayed. The rascal coondog

climbed the trees and chased the lion out. That's what Moze did! I got to an open space and saw him, and was

coming up fine when he went down over a hollow which ran into the canyon. My horse tripped and fell,

turning clear over with me before he threw me into the brush. I tore my clothes, and got this bruise, but wasn't

I began a recital of my experience, modestly omitting the incident where I bravely faced an old lioness. Upon

consulting my watch, I found I had been almost four hours climbing out. At that moment, Frank poked a red

face over the rim. He was in shirt sleeves, sweating freely, and wore a frown I had never seen before. He

"Where wereyouall?" he panted. "Say! but mebbe this hasn't been a chase! Jim and Wallace an' me went

tumblin' down after the dogs, each one lookin' out for his perticilar dog, an' darn me if I don't believe his lion,

too. Don took one oozin' down the canyon, with me hotfootin' it after him. An' somewhere he treed thet lion,

right below me, in a box canyon, sort of an offshoot of the second rim, an' I couldn't locate him. I blamed

near killed myself more'n once. Look at my knuckles! Barked em slidin' about a mile down a smooth wall. I

thought once the lion had jumped Don, but soon I heard him barkin' again. All thet time I heard Sounder, an'

once I heard the pup. Jim yelled, an' somebody was shootin'. But I couldn't find nobody, or make nobody hear

me. Thet canyon is a mighty deceivin' place. You'd never think so till you go down. I wouldn't climb up it

Jim appeared just over the rim, and when he got up to us, dusty, torn and fagged out, with Don, Tige and

Ranger showing signs of collapse, we all blurted out questions. But Jim took his time.

"Shore thet canyon is one hell of a place," he began finally. "Where was everybody? Tige and the pup went

down with me an' treed a cougar. Yes, they did, an' I set under a pinyon holdin' the pup, while Tige kept the

cougar treed. I yelled an' yelled. After about an hour or two, Wallace came poundin' down like a giant. It was

a sure thing we'd get the cougar; an' Wallace was takin' his picture when the blamed cat jumped. It was

embarrassin', because he wasn't polite about how he jumped. We scattered some, an' when Wallace got his

gun, the cougar was humpin' down the slope, an' he was goin' so fast an' the pinyons was so thick thet

Wallace couldn't get a fair shot, an' missed. Tige an' the pup was so scared by the shots they wouldn't take the

trail again. I heard some one shoot about a million times, an' shore thought the cougar was done for. Wallace

went plungin' down the slope an' I followed. I couldn't keep up with himhe shore takes long stepsan' I

lost him. I'm reckonin' he went over the second wall. Then I made tracks for the top. Boys, the way you can

see an' hear things down in thet canyon, an' the way you can't hear an' see things is pretty funny."

"If Wallace went over the second rim wall, will he get back today?" we all asked.

We waited, lounged, and slept for three hours, and were beginning to worry about our comrade when he hove

in sight eastward, along the rim. He walked like a man whose next step would be his last. When he reached

"Somebody once mentioned Israel Putnam's ascent of a hill," he said slowly. "With all respect to history and

Five o'clock found us round a bright fire, all casting ravenous eyes at a smoking supper. The smell of the

Persian meat would have made a wolf of a vegetarian. I devoured four chops, and could not have been

counted in the running. Jim opened a can of maple syrup which he had been saving for a grand occasion, and

Frank went him one better with two cans of peaches. How glorious to be hungryto feel the craving for

food, and to be grateful for it, to realize that the best of life lies in the daily needs of existence, and to battle

Nothing could be stronger than the simple enumeration and statement of the facts of Wallace's experience

after he left Jim. He chased the cougar, and kept it in sight, until it went over the second rim wall. Here he

dropped over a precipice twenty feet high, to alight on a fanshaped slide which spread toward the bottom. It

began to slip and move by jerks, and then started off steadily, with an increasing roar. He rode an avalanche

for one thousand feet. The jar loosened bowlders from the walls. When the slide stopped, Wallace extricated

his feet and began to dodge the bowlders. He had only time to jump over the large ones or dart to one side out

of their way. He dared not run. He had to watch them coming. One huge stone hurtled over his head and

When these had ceased rolling, and he had passed down to the red shale, he heard Sounder baying near, and

knew a cougar had been treed or cornered. Hurdling the stones and dead pinyons, Wallace ran a mile down

the slope, only to find he had been deceived in the direction. He sheered off to the left. Sounder's illusive bay

came up from a deep cleft. Wallace plunged into a pinyon, climbed to the ground, skidded down a solid slide,

to come upon an impassable the obstacle in the form of a solid wall of red granite. Sounder appeared and

Wallace consumed four hours in making the ascent. In the notch of the curve of the second rim wall, he

climbed the slippery steps of a waterfall. At one point, if he had not been six feet five inches tall he would

have been compelled to attempt retracing his trailan impossible task. But his height enabled him to reach a

root, by which he pulled himself up. Sounder he lassoed a la Jones, and hauled up. At another spot, which

Sounder climbed, he lassoed a pinyon above, and walked up with his feet slipping from under him at every

step. The knees of his corduroy trousers were holes, as were the elbows of his coat. The sole of his left boot,

The mountain lion, or cougar, of our Rocky Mountain region, is nothing more nor less than the panther. He is

a little different in shape, color and size, which vary according to his environment. The panther of the

Rockies is usually light, taking the grayish hue of the rocks. He is stockier and heavier of build, and stronger

of limb than the Eastern species, which difference comes from climbing mountains and springing down the

In regions accessible to man, or where man is encountered even rarely, the cougar is exceedingly shy, seldom

or never venturing from cover during the day. He spends the hours of daylight high on the most rugged cliffs,

sleeping and basking in the sunshine, and watching with wonderfully keen sight the valleys below. His

hearing equals his sight, and if danger threatens, he always hears it in time to skulk away unseen. At night he

steals down the mountain side toward deer or elk he has located during the day. Keeping to the lowest ravines

and thickets, he creeps upon his prey. His cunning and ferocity are keener and more savage in proportion to

the length of time he has been without food. As he grows hungrier and thinner, his skill and fierce strategy

correspondingly increase. A wellfed cougar will creep upon and secure only about one in seven of the deer,

elk, antelope or mountain sheep that he stalks. But a starving cougar is another animal. He creeps like a

snake, is as sure on the scent as a vulture, makes no more noise than a shadow, and he hides behind a stone or

bush that would scarcely conceal a rabbit. Then he springs with terrific force, and intensity of purpose, and

seldom fails to reach his victim, and once the claws of a starved lion touch flesh, they never let go.

A cougar seldom pursues his quarry after he has leaped and missed, either from disgust or failure, or

knowledge that a second attempt would be futile. The animal making the easiest prey for the cougar is the

elk. About every other elk attacked falls a victim. Deer are more fortunate, the ratio being one dead to five

leaped at. The antelope, living on the lowlands or upland meadows, escapes nine times out of ten; and the

Once the lion gets a hold with the great forepaw, every movement of the struggling prey sinks the sharp,

hooked claws deeper. Then as quickly as is possible, the lion fastens his teeth in the throat of his prey and

grips till it is dead. In this way elk have carried lions for many rods. The lion seldom tears the skin of the

neck, and never, as is generally supposed, sucks the blood of its victim; but he cuts into the side, just behind

the foreshoulder, and eats the liver first. He rolls the skin back as neatly and tightly as a person could do it.

When he has gorged himself, he drags the carcass into a ravine or dense thicket, and rakes leaves, sticks or

dirt over it to hide it from other animals. Usually he returns to his cache on the second night, and after that the

frequency of his visits depends on the supply of fresh prey. In remote regions, unfrequented by man, the lion

In sex there are about five female lions to one male. This is caused by the jealous and vicious disposition of

the male. It is a fact that the old Toms kill every young lion they can catch. Both male and female of the litter

suffer alike until after weaning time, and then only the males. In this matter wise animal logic is displayed by

the Toms. The domestic cat, to some extent, possesses the same trait. If the litter is destroyed, the mating time

is sure to come about regardless of the season. Thus this savage trait of the lions prevents overproduction, and

breeds a hardy and intrepid race. If by chance or that cardinal feature of animal lifethe survival of the

fittesta young male lion escapes to the weaning time, even after that he is persecuted. Young male lions

have been killed and found to have had their flesh beaten until it was a mass of bruises and undoubtedly it

had been the work of an old Tom. Moreover, old males and females have been killed, and found to be in the

same bruised condition. A feature, and a conclusive one, is the fact that invariably the female is suckling her

young at this period, and sustains the bruises in desperately defending her litter.

It is astonishing how cunning, wise and faithful an old lioness is. She seldom leaves her kittens. From the

time they are six weeks old she takes them out to train them for the battles of life, and the struggle continues

from birth to death. A lion hardly ever dies naturally. As soon as night descends, the lioness stealthily stalks

forth, and because of her little ones, takes very short steps. The cubs follow, stepping in their mother's tracks.

When she crouches for game, each little lion crouches also, and each one remains perfectly still until she

springs, or signals them to come. If she secures the prey, they all gorge themselves. After the feast the mother

takes her back trail, stepping in the tracks she made coming down the mountain. And the cubs are very

careful to follow suit, and not to leave marks of their trail in the soft snow. No doubt this habit is practiced to

keep their deadly enemies in ignorance of their existence. The old Toms and white hunters are their only foes.

Indians never kill a lion. This trick of the lions has fooled many a hunter, concerning not only the direction,

The only successful way to hunt lions is with trained dogs. A good hound can trail them for several hours

after the tracks have been made, and on a cloudy or wet day can hold the scent much longer. In snow the

When Jones was game warden of the Yellowstone National Park, he had unexampled opportunities to hunt

cougars and learn their habits. All the cougars in that region of the Rockies made a rendezvous of the game

preserve. Jones soon procured a pack of hounds, but as they had been trained to run deer, foxes and coyotes

he had great trouble. They would break on the trail of these animals, and also on elk and antelope just when

this was farthest from his wish. He soon realized that to train the hounds was a sore task. When they refused

to come back at his call, he stung them with fine shot, and in this manner taught obedience. But obedience

was not enough; the hounds must know how to follow and tree a lion. With this in mind, Jones decided to

A few days after reaching this decision, he discovered the tracks of two lions in the neighborhood of Mt.

Everett. The hounds were put on the trail and followed it into an abandoned coal shaft. Jones recognized this

as his opportunity, and taking his lasso and an extra rope, he crawled into the hole. Not fifteen feet from the

opening sat one of the cougars, snarling and spitting. Jones promptly lassoed it, passed his end of the lasso

round a side prop of the shaft, and out to the soldiers who had followed him. Instructing them not to pull till

he called, he cautiously began to crawl by the cougar, with the intention of getting farther back and roping its

hind leg, so as to prevent disaster when the soldiers pulled it out. He accomplished this, not without some

uneasiness in regard to the second lion, and giving the word to his companions, soon had his captive hauled

Jones took the cougar and his hounds to an open place in the park, where there were trees, and prepared for a

chase. Loosing the lion, he held his hounds back a moment, then let them go. Within one hundred yards the

cougar climbed a tree, and the dogs saw the performance. Taking a forked stick, Jones mounted up to the

cougar, caught it under the jaw with the stick, and pushed it out. There was a fight, a scramble, and the

cougar dashed off to run up another tree. In this manner, he soon trained his hounds to the pink of perfection.

Jones discovered, while in the park, that the cougar is king of all the beasts of North America. Even a grizzly

dashed away in great haste when a cougar made his appearance. At the road camp, near Mt. Washburn,

during the fall of 1904, the bears, grizzlies and others, were always hanging round the cook tent. There were

cougars also, and almost every evening, about dusk, a big fellow would come parading past the tent. The

bears would grunt furiously and scamper in every direction. It was easy to tell when a cougar was in the

neighborhood, by the peculiar grunts and snorts of the bears, and the sharp, distinct, alarmed yelps of coyotes.

A lion would just as lief kill a coyote as any other animal and he would devour it, too. As to the fighting of

cougars and grizzlies, that was a mooted question, with the credit on the side of the former.

The story of the doings of cougars, as told in the snow, was intensely fascinating and tragic! How they

stalked deer and elk, crept to within springing distance, then crouched flat to leap, was as easy to read as if it

had been told in print. The leaps and bounds were beyond belief. The longest leap on a level measured

eighteen and onehalf feet. Jones trailed a halfgrown cougar, which in turn was trailing a big elk. He found

where the cougar had struck his game, had clung for many rods, to be dashed off by the low limb of a spruce

tree. The imprint of the body of the cougar was a foot deep in the snow; blood and tufts of hair covered the

In rare cases cougars would refuse to run, or take to trees. One day Jones followed the hounds, eight in

number, to come on a huge Tom holding the whole pack at bay. He walked to and fro, lashing his tail from

side to side, and when Jones dashed up, he coolly climbed a tree. Jones shot the cougar, which, in falling,

struck one of the hounds, crippling him. This hound would never approach a tree after this incident, believing

Usually the hounds chased their quarry into a tree long before Jones rode up. It was always desirable to kill

the animal with the first shot. If the cougar was wounded, and fell or jumped among the dogs, there was sure

to be a terrible fight, and the best dogs always received serious injuries, if they were not killed outright. The

Jones asserted that a cougar would usually run from a hunter, but that this feature was not to be relied upon.

And a wounded cougar was as dangerous as a tiger. In his hunts Jones carried a shotgun, and shells loaded

with ball for the cougar, and others loaded with fine shot for the hounds. One day, about ten miles from the

camp, the hounds took a trail and ran rapidly, as there were only a few inches of snow. Jones found a large

lion had taken refuge in a tree that had fallen against another, and aiming at the shoulder of the beast, he fired

both barrels. The cougar made no sign he had been hit. Jones reloaded and fired at the head. The old fellow

growled fiercely, turned in the tree and walked down head first, something he would not have been able to do

had the tree been upright. The hounds were ready for him, but wisely attacked in the rear. Realizing he had

been shooting fine shot at the animal, Jones began a hurried search for a shell loaded with ball. The lion made

for him, compelling him to dodge behind trees. Even though the hounds kept nipping the cougar, the

persistent fellow still pursued the hunter. At last Jones found the right shell, just as the cougar reached for

him. Major, the leader of the hounds, darted bravely in, and grasped the leg of the beast just in the nick of

time. This enabled Jones to take aim and fire at close range, which ended the fight. Upon examination, it was

discovered the cougar had been halfblinded by the fine shot, which accounted for the ineffectual attempts he

The mountain lion rarely attacks a human being for the purpose of eating. When hungry he will often follow

the tracks of people, and under favorable circumstances may ambush them. In the park where game is

plentiful, no one has ever known a cougar to follow the trail of a person; but outside the park lions have been

known to follow hunters, and particularly stalk little children. The Davis family, living a few miles north of

the park, have had children pursued to the very doors of their cabin. And other families relate similar

experiences. Jones heard of only one fatality, but he believes that if the children were left alone in the woods,

the cougars would creep closer and closer, and when assured there was no danger, would spring to kill.

Jones never heard the cry of a cougar in the National Park, which strange circumstance, considering the great

number of the animals there, he believed to be on account of the abundance of game. But he had heard it

when a boy in Illinois, and when a man all over the West, and the cry was always the same, weird and wild,

like the scream of a terrified woman. He did not understand the significance of the cry, unless it meant

The destructiveness of this savage species was murderous. Jones came upon one old Tom's den, where there

was a pile of nineteen elk, mostly yearlings. Only five or six had been eaten. Jones hunted this old fellow for

months, and found that the lion killed on the average three animals a week. The hounds got him up at length,

and chased him to the Yellowstone River, which he swam at a point impassable for man or horse. One of the

dogs, a giant bloodhound named Jack, swam the swift channel, kept on after the lion, but never returned. All

cougars have their peculiar traits and habits, the same as other creatures, and all old Toms have strongly

marked characteristics, but this one was the most destructive cougar Jones ever knew.

During Jones's short sojourn as warden in the park, he captured numerous cougars alive, and killed

It seemed my eyelids had scarcely touched when Jones's exasperating, yet stimulating, yell aroused me. Day

was breaking. The moon and stars shone with wan luster. A white, snowy frost silvered the forest. Old Moze

had curled close beside me, and now he gazed at me reproachfully and shivered. Lawson came hustling in

with the horses. Jim busied himself around the campfire. My fingers nearly froze while I saddled my horse.

At five o'clock we were trotting up the slope of Buckskin, bound for the section of ruined rim wall where we

had encountered the convention of cougars. Hoping to save time, we took a short cut, and were soon crossing

The sunrise coloring the purple curtain of cloud over the canyon was too much for me, and I lagged on a high

ridge to watch it, thus falling behind my more practical companions. A faroff "Waahoo!" brought me to a

I came suddenly upon our leader, leading his horse through the scrub pinyon on the edge of the canyon, and I

knew at once something had happened, for he was closely scrutinizing the ground.

"I declare this beats me all hollow!" began Jones. "We might be hunting rabbits instead of the wildest animals

on the continent. We jumped a bunch of lions in this clump of pinyon. There must have been at least four. I

thought first we'd run upon an old lioness with cubs, but all the trails were made by fullgrown lions. Moze

took one north along the rim, same as the other day, but the lion got away quick. Frank saw one lion. Wallace

is following Sounder down into the first hollow. Jim has gone over the rim wall after Don. There you are!

Four lions playing tag in broad daylight on top of this wall! I'm inclined to believe Clarke didn't exaggerate.

But confound the luck! the hounds have split again. They're doing their best, of course, and it's up to us to

stay with them. I'm afraid we'll lose some of them. Hello! I hear a signal. That's from Wallace. Waahoo!

The tall Californian reached us presently with Sounder beside him. He reported that the hound had chased a

lion into an impassable break. We then joined Frank on a jutting crag of the canyon wall.

"Waahoo!" yelled Jones. There was no answer except the echo, and it rolled up out of the chasm with

"Don took a cougar down this slide," said Frank. "I saw the brute, an' Don was makin' him hump. Aha!

"That's Don! that's Don!" cried Jones. "He's hot on something. Where's Sounder? Hyar, Sounder! By George!

"Wallace, you go down. Frank and I will climb out on that pointed crag. Grey, you stay here. Then we'll have

From my promontory I watched Wallace go down with his gigantic strides, sending the rocks rolling and

cracking; and then I saw Jones and Frank crawl out to the end of a crumbling ruin of yellow wall which

I thought, as I listened to the penetrating voice of the hound, that nowhere on earth could there be a grander

scene for wild action, wild life. My position afforded a commanding view over a hundred miles of the noblest

and most sublime work of nature. The rim wall where I stood sheered down a thousand feet, to meet a long

wooded slope which cut abruptly off into another giant precipice; a second long slope descended, and jumped

off into what seemed the grave of the world. Most striking in that vast void were the long, irregular points of

rim wall, protruding into the Grand Canyon. From Point Sublime to the Pink Cliffs of Utah there were twelve

of these colossal capes, miles apart, some sharp, some round, some blunt, all rugged and bold. The great

chasm in the middle was full of purple smoke. It seemed a mighty sepulcher from which misty fumes rolled

upward. The turrets, mesas, domes, parapets and escarpments of yellow and red rock gave the appearance of

an architectural work of giant hands. The wonderful river of silt, the bloodred, mystic and sullen Rio

Colorado, lay hidden except in one place far away, where it glimmered wanly. Thousands of colors were

blended before my rapt gaze. Yellow predominated, as the walls and crags lorded it over the lower cliffs and

tables; red glared in the sunlight; green softened these two, and then purple and violet, gray, blue and the

Excited yells from my companions on the other crag recalled me to the living aspect of the scene. Jones was

leaning far down in a niche, at seeming great hazard of life, yelling with all the power of his strong lungs.

Frank stood still farther out on a cracked point that made me tremble, and his yell reenforced Jones's. From

far below rolled up a chorus of thrilling bays and yelps, and Jim's call, faint, but distinct on that wonderfully

Then on the slide I saw a lion headed for the rim wall and climbing fast. I added my exultant cry to the

medley, and I stretched my arms wide to that illimitable void and gloried in a moment full to the brim of the

tingling joy of existence. I did not consider how painful it must have been to the toiling lion. It was only the

spell of wild environment, of perilous yellow crags, of thin, dry air, of voice of man and dog, of the stinging

I watched the lion growing bigger and bigger. I saw Don and Sounder run from the pinyon into the open

slide, and heard their impetuous burst of wild yelps as they saw their game. Then Jones's clarion yell made

me bound for my horse. I reached him, was about to mount, when Moze came trotting toward me. I caught

the old gladiator. When he heard the chorus from below, he plunged like a mad bull. With both arms round

him I held on. I vowed never to let him get down that slide. He howled and tore, but I held on. My big black

I heard the pattering of little sliding rocks below; stealthy padded footsteps and hard panting breaths, almost

like coughs; then the lion passed out of the slide not twenty feet away. He saw us, and sprang into the pinyon

Samson himself could no longer have held Moze. Away he darted with his sharp, angry bark. I flung myself

upon Satan and rode out to see Jones ahead and Frank flashing through the green on the white horse.

At the end of the pinyon thicket Satan overhauled Jones's bay, and we entered the open forest together. We

No need was there to whip or spur those magnificent horses. They were fresh; the course was open, and

smooth as a racetrack, and the impelling chorus of the hounds was in full blast. I gave Satan a loose rein, and

he stayed neck and neck with the bay. There was not a log, nor a stone, nor a gully. The hollows grew wider

and shallower as we raced along, and presently disappeared altogether. The lion was running straight from

the canyon, and the certainty that he must sooner or later take to a tree, brought from me a yell of irresistible

The whipping wind with its pinescented fragrance, warm as the breath of summer, was intoxicating as wine.

The huge pines, too kingly for close communion with their kind, made wide arches under which the horses

stretched out long and low, with supple, springy, powerful strides. Frank's yell rang clear as a bell. We saw

him curve to the right, and took his yell as a signal for us to cut across. Then we began to close in on him, and

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" bawled Jones, and his great trumpet voice rolled down the forest glades.

Fast as they were flying, the bay and the black responded to our cries, and quickened, strained and lengthened

There, plainly in sight ahead ran the hounds, Don leading, Sounder next, and Moze not fifty yards, behind a

There are allsatisfying moments of life. That chase through the open forest, under the stately pines, with the

wild, tawny quarry in plain sight, and the glad staccato yelps of the hounds filling my ears and swelling my

heart, with the splendid action of my horse carrying me on the wings of the wind, was glorious answer and

But as such moments must be, they were brief. The lion leaped gracefully into the air, splintering the bark

from a pine fifteen feet up, and crouched on a limb. The hounds tore madly round the tree.

"Fullgrown female," said Jones calmly, as we dismounted, "and she's ours. We'll call her Kitty."

Kitty was a beautiful creature, long, slender, glossy, with white belly and blacktipped ears and tail. She did

not resemble the heavy, grimfaced brute that always hung in the air of my dreams. A low, brooding

menacing murmur, that was not a snarl nor a growl, came from her. She watched the dogs with bright, steady

The dogs were worth attention, even from us, who certainly did not need to regard them from her personally

hostile point of view. Don stood straight up, with his forepaws beating the air; he walked on his hind legs like

the trained dog in the circus; he yelped continuously, as if it agonized him to see the lion safe out of his reach.

Sounder had lost his identity. Joy had unhinged his mind and had made him a dog of double personality. He

had always been unsocial with me, never responding to my attempts to caress him, but now he leaped into my

arms and licked my face. He had always hated Jones till that moment, when he raised his paws to his master's

breast. And perhaps more remarkable, time and time again he sprang up at Satan's nose, whether to bite him

or kiss him, I could not tell. Then old Moze, he of Grand Canyon fame, made the delirious antics of his

canine fellows look cheap. There was a small, dead pine that had fallen against a drooping branch of the tree

Kitty had taken refuge in, and up this narrow ladder Moze began to climb. He was fifteen feet up, and Kitty

But Jones might have been in the bottom of the canyon for all Moze heard or cared. Jones removed his coat,

"Hyar! dadblast you, git down!" yelled Jones, and he kicked Moze off. The persistent hound returned, and

"Same here," I cried, with a camera in one hand and a rifle in the other. "Let Moze climb if he likes."

Climb he did, to be kicked off again. But he went back. It was a way he had. Jones at last recognized either

his own waste of time or Moze's greatness, for he desisted, allowing the hound to keep close after him.

The cougar, becoming uneasy, stood up, reached for another limb, climbed out upon it, and peering down,

spat hissingly at Jones. But he kept steadily on with Moze close on his heels. I snapped my camera on them

when Kitty was not more than fifteen feet above them. As Jones reached the snag which upheld the leaning

tree, she ran out on her branch, and leaped into an adjoining pine. It was a good long jump, and the weight of

Jones backed down, and laboriously began to climb the other tree. As there were no branches low down, he

had to hug the trunk with arms and legs as a boy climbs. His lasso hampered his progress. When the slow

ascent was accomplished up to the first branch, Kitty leaped back into her first perch. Strange to say Jones did

not grumble; none of his characteristic impatience manifested itself. I supposed with him all the exasperating

waits, vexatious obstacles, were little things preliminary to the real work, to which he had now come. He was

calm and deliberate, and slid down the pine, walked back to the leaning tree, and while resting a moment,

shook his lasso at Kitty. This action fitted him, somehow; it was so compatible with his grim assurance.

To me, and to Frank, also, for that matter, it was all new and startling, and we were as excited as the dogs.

We kept continually moving about, Frank mounted, and I afoot, to get good views of the cougar. When she

crouched as if to leap, it was almost impossible to remain under the tree, and we kept moving.

Once more Jones crept up on hands and knees. Moze walked the slanting pine like a rope performer. Kitty

began to grow restless. This time she showed both anger and impatience, but did not yet appear frightened.

She growled low and deep, opened her mouth and hissed, and swung her tufted tail faster and faster.

Jones, who had reached the trunk of the tree, halted and slipped round it, placing it between him and Kitty.

She had advanced on her limb, a few feet above Jones, and threateningly hung over.

Jones backed down a little till she crossed to another branch, then he resumed his former position.

Hardly any doubt was there as to how we watched. Frank and I were all eyes, except very high and throbbing

hearts. When Jones thrashed the lasso at Kitty we both yelled. She ran out on the branch and jumped. This

time she fell short of her point, clutched a dead snag, which broke, letting her through a bushy branch from

where she hung head downward. For a second she swung free, then reaching toward the tree caught it with

front paws, ran down like a squirrel, and leaped off when thirty feet from the ground. The action was as rapid

Like a yellow rubber ball she bounded up, and fled with the yelping hounds at her heels. The chase was short.

At the end of a hundred yards Moze caught up with her and nipped her. She whirled with savage suddenness,

and lunged at Moze, but he cunningly eluded the vicious paws. Then she sought safety in another pine.

Frank, who was as quick as the hounds, almost rode them down in his eagerness. While Jones descended

This time the cougar was well out on a low spreading branch. Jones conceived the idea of raising the loop of

his lasso on a long pole, but as no pole of sufficient length could be found, he tried from the back of his

horse. The bay walked forward well enough; when, however, he got under the beast and heard her growl, he

reared and almost threw Jones. Frank's horse could not be persuaded to go near the tree. Satan evinced no

fear of the cougar, and without flinching carried Jones directly beneath the limb and stood with ears back and

"Look at that! look at that!" cried Jones, as the wary cougar pawed the loop aside. Three successive times did

Jones have the lasso just ready to drop over her neck, when she flashed a yellow paw and knocked the noose

awry. Then she leaped far out over the waiting dogs, struck the ground with a light, sharp thud, and began to

run with the speed of a deer. Frank's cowboy training now stood us in good stead. He was off like a shot and

turned the cougar from the direction of the canyon. Jones lost not a moment in pursuit, and I, left with Jones's

badly frightened bay, got going in time to see the race, but not to assist. For several hundred yards Kitty made

the hounds appear slow. Don, being swiftest, gained on her steadily toward the close of the dash, and

presently was running under her upraised tail. On the next jump he nipped her. She turned and sent him

reeling. Sounder came flying up to bite her flank, and at the same moment fierce old Moze closed in on her.

The next instant a struggling mass whirled on the ground. Jones and Frank, yelling like demons, almost rode

over it. The cougar broke from her assailants, and dashing away leaped on the first tree. It was a halfdead

"I think we can hold her now," said Jones. The tree proved to be a most difficult one to climb. Jones made

several ineffectual attempts before he reached the first limb, which broke, giving him a hard fall. This calmed

me enough to make me take notice of Jones's condition. He was wet with sweat and covered with the black

pitch from the pines; his shirt was slit down the arm, and there was blood on his temple and his hand. The

next attempt began by placing a goodsized log against the tree, and proved to be the necessary help. Jones

As he kept on, Kitty crouched low as if to spring upon him. Again Frank and I sent warning calls to him, but

he paid no attention to us or to the cougar, and continued to climb. This worried Kitty as much as it did us.

She began to move on the snags, stepping from one to the other, every moment snarling at Jones, and then

she crawled up. The big branch evidently took her eye. She tried several times to climb up to it, but small

snags close together made her distrustful. She walked uneasily out upon two limbs, and as they bent with her

weight she hurried back. Twice she did this, each time looking up, showing her desire to leap to the big

branch. Her distress became plainly evident; a child could have seen that she feared she would fall. At length,

in desperation, she spat at Jones, then ran out and leaped. She all but missed the branch, but succeeded in

holding to it and swinging to safety. Then she turned to her tormentor, and gave utterance to most savage

sounds. As she did not intimidate her pursuer, she retreated out on the branch, which sloped down at a deep

When Jones had worked up a little farther, he commanded a splendid position for his operations. Kitty was

somewhat below him in a desirable place, yet the branch she was on joined the tree considerably above his

head. Jones cast his lasso. It caught on a snag. Throw after throw he made with like result. He recoiled and

This practical idea Jones soon carried out, which left him a clear path. The next fling of the lariat caused the

cougar angrily to shake her head. Again Jones sent the noose flying. She pulled it off her back and bit it

Though very much excited, I tried hard to keep sharp, keen faculties alert so as not to miss a single detail of

the thrilling scene. But I must have failed, for all of a sudden I saw how Jones was standing in the tree,

something I had not before appreciated. He had one hand hold, which he could not use while recoiling the

lasso, and his feet rested upon a precariously frailappearing, dead snag. He made eleven casts of the lasso,

all of which bothered Kitty, but did not catch her. The twelfth caught her front paw. Jones jerked so quickly

and hard that he almost lost his balance, and he pulled the noose off. Patiently he recoiled the lasso.

"That's what I want. If I can get her front paw she's ours. My idea is to pull her off the limb, let her hang

Another cast, the unlucky thirteenth, settled the loop perfectly round her neck. She chewed on the rope with

Cautiously Jones took up the slack and slowly tightened the nose, then with a quick jerk, fastened it close

Our triumph was shortlived. Jones had hardly moved when the cougar shot straight out into the air. The

lasso caught on a branch, hauling her up short, and there she hung in midair, writhing, struggling and giving

utterance to sounds terribly human. For several seconds she swung, slowly descending, in which frenzied

The unintelligible commands Jones was yelling to Frank and me ceased suddenly with a sharp crack of

breaking wood. Then crash! Jones fell out of the tree. The lasso streaked up, ran over the limb, while the

The next few moments it was impossible for me to distinguish what actually transpired. A great flutter of

leaves whirled round a swiftly changing ball of brown and black and yellow, from which came a fiendish

Then I saw Jones plunge down the ravine and bounce here and there in mad efforts to catch the whipping

lasso. He was roaring in a way that made all his former yells merely whispers. Starting to run, I tripped on a

root, fell prone on my face into the ravine, and rolled over and over until I brought up with a bump against a

What a tableau rivited my gaze! It staggered me so I did not think of my camera. I stood transfixed not fifteen

feet from the cougar. She sat on her haunches with body well drawn back by the taut lasso to which Jones

held tightly. Don was standing up with her, upheld by the hooked claws in his head. The cougar had her paws

outstretched; her mouth open wide, showing long, cruel, white fangs; she was trying to pull the head of the

dog to her. Don held back with all his power, and so did Jones. Moze and Sounder were tussling round her

body. Suddenly both ears of the dog pulled out, slit into ribbons. Don had never uttered a sound, and once

free, he made at her again with open jaws. One blow sent him reeling and stunned. Then began again that

"Beat off the dogs! Beat off the dogs!" roared Jones. "She'll kill them! She'll kill them!"

Frank and I seized clubs and ran in upon the confused furry mass, forgetful of peril to ourselves. In the wild

contagion of such a savage moment the minds of men revert wholly to primitive instincts. We swung our

clubs and yelled; we fought all over the bottom of the ravine, crashing through the bushes, over logs and

stones. I actually felt the soft fur of the cougar at one fleeting instant. The dogs had the strength born of

insane fighting spirit. At last we pulled them to where Don lay, halfstunned, and with an arm tight round

The disheveled Jones, bloody, grim as death, his heavy jaw locked, stood holding to the lasso. The cougar,

her sides shaking with short, quick pants, crouched low on the ground with eyes of purple fire.

His quick grasp of the situation averted a tragedy. Jones was nearly exhausted, even as he was beyond

thinking for himself or giving up. The cougar sprang, a yellow, frightful flash. Even as she was in the air,

Jones took a quick step to one side and dodged as he threw his lasso round the sapling. She missed him, but

one alarmingly outstretched paw grazed his shoulder. A twist of Jones's big hand fastened the lassoand

Kitty was a prisoner. While she fought, rolled, twisted, bounded, whirled, writhed with hissing, snarling fury,

Kitty's efforts were futile; she began to weaken from the choking. Jones took another rope, and tightening a

noose around her back paws, which he lassoed as she rolled over, he stretched her out. She began to contract

her supple body, gave a savage, convulsive spring, which pulled Jones flat on the ground, then the terrible

wrestling started again. The lasso slipped over her back paws. She leaped the whole length of the other lasso.

Jones caught it and fastened it more securely; but this precaution proved unnecessary, for she suddenly sank

down either exhausted or choked, and gasped with her tongue hanging out. Frank slipped the second noose

over her back paws, and Jones did likewise with a third lasso over her right front paw. These lassoes Jones

"Now you are a good Kitty," said Jones, kneeling by her. He took a pair of clippers from his hip pocket, and

grasping a paw in his powerful fist he calmly clipped the points of the dangerous claws. This done, he called

to me to get the collar and chain that were tied to his saddle. I procured them and hurried back. Then the old

buffalo hunter loosened the lasso which was round her neck, and as soon as she could move her head, he

teased her to bite a club. She broke two good sticks with her sharp teeth, but the third, being solid, did not

break. While she was chewing it Jones forced her head back and placed his heavy knee on the club. In a

twinkling he had strapped the collar round her neck. The chain he made fast to the sapling. After removing

the club from her mouth he placed his knee on her neck, and while her head was in this helpless position he

dexterously slipped a loop of thick copper wire over her nose, pushed it back and twisted it tight Following

this, all done with speed and precision, he took from his pocket a piece of steel rod, perhaps onequarter of

an inch thick, and five inches long. He pushed this between Kitty's jaws, just back of her great white fangs,

and in front of the copper wire. She had been shorn of her sharp weapons; she was muzzled, bound, helpless,

Lastly Jones removed the three lassoes. Kitty slowly gathered her lissom body in a ball and lay panting, with

the same brave wildfire in her eyes. Jones stroked her blacktipped ears and ran his hand down her glossy

fur. All the time he had kept up a low monotone, talking to her in the strange language he used toward

"We'll go back to camp now, and get a pack, saddle and horse," he said. "She'll be safe here. We'll rope her

To my utter bewilderment the hounds suddenly commenced fighting among themselves. Of all the vicious

bloody dogfights I ever saw that was the worst. I began to belabor them with a club, and Frank sprang to my

assistance. Beating had no apparent effect. We broke a dozen sticks, and then Frank grappled with Moze and

I with Sounder. Don kept on fighting either one till Jones secured him. Then we all took a rest, panting and

We all remained seated, men and hounds, a sweaty, dirty, bloody, ragged group. I discovered I was sorry for

Kitty. I forgot all the carcasses of deer and horses, the brutality of this species of cat; and even forgot the

grim, snarling yellow devil that had leaped at me. Kitty was beautiful and helpless. How brave she was, too!

On the ride back to camp Jones expressed himself thus: "How happy I am that I can keep this lion and the

others we are going to capture, for my own. When I was in the Yellowstone Park I did not get to keep one of

When we reached camp Lawson was absent, but fortunately Old Baldy browsed near at hand, and was easily

caught. Frank said he would rather take Old Baldy for the cougar than any other horse we had. Leaving me in

About five o'clock they came trotting up through the forest with Jim, who had fallen in with them on the way.

Old Baldy had remained true to his famenothing, not even a cougar bothered him. Kitty, evidently no

worse for her experience, was chained to a pine tree about fifty feet from the campfire.

Wallace came riding wearily in, and when he saw the captive, he greeted us with an exultant yell. He got

there just in time to see the first special features of Kitty's captivity. The hounds surrounded her, and could

not be called off. We had to beat them. Whereupon the six jealous canines fell to fighting among themselves,

and fought so savagely as to be deaf to our cries and insensible to blows. They had to be torn apart and

About six o'clock Lawson loped in with the horses. Of course he did not know we had a cougar, and no one

seemed interested enough to inform him. Perhaps only Frank and I thought of it; but I saw a merry snap in

Frank's eyes, and kept silent. Kitty had hidden behind the pine tree. Lawson, astride Jones' pack horse, a

crochety animal, reined in just abreast of the tree, and leisurely threw his leg over the saddle. Kitty leaped out

Lawson had stated some time before that he was afraid of cougars, which was a weakness he need not have

divulged in view of what happened. The horse plunged, throwing him ten feet, and snorting in terror,

"Why the hell didn't you tell a feller?" reproachfully growled the Arizonian. Frank and Jim held each other

We had a gay supper, during which Kitty sat her pine and watched our every movement.

"We'll rest up for a day or two," said Jones "Things have commenced to come our way. If I'm not mistaken

we'll bring an old Tom alive into camp. But it would never do for us to get a big Tom in the fix we had Kitty

today. You see, I wanted to lasso her front paw, pull her off the limb, tie my end of the lasso to the tree, and

while she hung I'd go down and rope her hind paws. It all went wrong today, and was as tough a job as I

Not until late next morning did Lawson corral all the horses. That day we lounged in camp mending broken

bridles, saddles, stirrups, lassoes, boots, trousers, leggins, shirts and even broken skins.

During this time I found Kitty a most interesting study. She reminded me of an enormous yellow kitten. She

did not appear wild or untamed until approached. Then she slowly sank down, laid back her ears, opened her

mouth and hissed and spat, at the same time throwing both paws out viciously. Kitty may have rested, but did

not sleep. At times she fought her chain, tugging and straining at it, and trying to bite it through. Everything

in reach she clawed, particularly the bark of the tree. Once she tried to hang herself by leaping over a low

limb. When any one walked by her she crouched low, evidently imagining herself unseen. If one of us walked

toward her, or looked at her, she did not crouch. At other times, noticeably when no one was near, she would

roll on her back and extend all four paws in the air. Her actions were beautiful, soft, noiseless, quick and

The day passed, as all days pass in camp, swiftly and pleasantly, and twilight stole down upon us round the

ruddy fire. The wind roared in the pines and lulled to repose; the lonesome, friendly coyote barked; the bells

on the hobbled horses jingled sweetly; the great watch stars blinked out of the blue.

The red glow of the burning logs lighted up Jones's calm, cold face. Tranquil, unalterable and peaceful it

seemed; yet beneath the peace I thought I saw a suggestion of wild restraint, of mystery, of unslaked life.

"For forty years I've had an ambition. It's to get possession of an island in the Pacific, somewhere between

Vancouver and Alaska, and then go to Siberia and capture a lot of Russian sables. I'd put them on the island

and cross them with our silver foxes. I'm going to try it next year if I can find the time."

The ruling passion and character determine our lives. Jones was sixtythree years old, yet the thing that had

ruled and absorbed his mind was still as strong as the longing for freedom in Kitty's wild heart.

Hours after I had crawled into my sleepingbag, in the silence of night I heard her working to get free. In

darkness she was most active, restless, intense. I heard the clink of her chain, the crack of her teeth, the scrape

of her claws. How tireless she was. I recalled the wistful light in her eyes that saw, no doubt, far beyond the

campfire to the yellow crags, to the great downward slopes, to freedom. I slipped my elbow out of the bag

and raised myself. Dark shadows were hovering under the pines. I saw Kitty's eyes gleam like sparks, and I

seemed to see in them the hate, the fear, the terror she had of the clanking thing that bound her!

I shivered, perhaps from the cold night wind which moaned through the pines; I saw the stars glittering pale

and far off, and under their wan light the still, set face of Jones, and blanketed forms of my other companions.

The last thing I remembered before dropping into dreamless slumber was hearing a bell tinkle in the forest,

Kitty was not the only cougar brought into camp alive. The ensuing days were fruitful of cougars and

adventure. There were more wild rides to the music of the baying hounds, and more heartbreaking canyon

slopes to conquer, and more swinging, tufted tails and snarling savage faces in the pinyons. Once again, I am

sorry to relate, I had to glance down the sights of the little Remington, and I saw blood on the stones. Those

When the time for parting came it took no little discussion to decide on the quickest way of getting me to a

railroad. I never fully appreciated the inaccessibility of the Siwash until the question arose of finding a way

out. To return on our back trail would require two weeks, and to go out by the trail north to Utah meant half

as much time over the same kind of desert. Lawson came to our help, however, with the information that an

occasional prospector or horse hunter crossed the canyon from the Saddle, where a trail led down to the river.

"I've heard the trail is a bad one," said Lawson, "an' though I never seen it, I reckon it could be found. After

we get to the Saddle we'll build two fires on one of the high points an' keep them burnin' well after dark. If

Mr. Bass, who lives on the other side, sees the fires he'll come down his trail next mornin' an' meet us at the

river. He keeps a boat there. This is takin' a chance, but I reckon it's worth while."

So it was decided that Lawson and Frank would try to get me out by way of the canyon; Wallace intended to

go by the Utah route, and Jones was to return at once to his range and his buffalo.

That night round the campfire we talked over the many incidents of the hunt. Jones stated he had never in his

life come so near getting his "everlasting" as when the big bay horse tripped on a canyon slope and rolled

over him. Notwithstanding the respect with which we regarded his statement we held different opinions.

Then, with the unfailing optimism of hunters, we planned another hunt for the next year.

"I'll tell you what," said Jones. "Up in Utah there's a wild region called Pink Cliffs. A few poor sheepherders

try to raise sheep in the valleys. They wouldn't be so poor if it was not for the grizzly and black bears that live

on the sheep. We'll go up there, find a place where grass and water can be had, and camp. We'll notify the

sheepherders we are there for business. They'll be only too glad to hustle in with news of a bear, and we can

get the hounds on the trail by sunup. I'll have a dozen hounds then, maybe twenty, and all trained. We'll put

every black bear we chase up a tree, and we'll rope and tie him. As to grizzlieswell, I'm not saying so

much. They can't climb trees, and they are not afraid of a pack of hounds. If we rounded up a grizzly, got him

On the strength of this I stored up food for future thought and thus reconciled myself to bidding farewell to

At five o'clock next morning we were all stirring. Jones yelled at the hounds and untangled Kitty's chain. Jim

was already busy with the biscuit dough. Frank shook the frost off the saddles. Wallace was packing. The

merry jangle of bells came from the forest, and presently Lawson appeared driving in the horses. I caught my

black and saddled him, then realizing we were soon to part I could not resist giving him a hug.

An hour later we all stood at the head of the trail leading down into the chasm. The east gleamed rosy red.

Powell's Plateau loomed up in the distance, and under it showed the darkfringed dip in the rim called the

I spoke the last goodby and turned Satan into the narrow trail. When I looked back Jones stood on the rim

with the fresh glow of dawn shining on his face. The trail was steep, and claimed my attention and care, but

time and time again I gazed back. Jones waved his hand till a huge jutting cliff walled him from view. Then I

cast my eyes on the rough descent and the wonderful void beneath me. In my mind lingered a pleasing

consciousness of my last sight of the old plainsman. He fitted the scene; he belonged there among the silent