I rode round the corner into a widening space thick with cedars. It
ended in a bare slope of smooth rock. Here we dismounted to begin the
ascent. It was smooth and hard, though not slippery. There was not
a crack. I did not see a broken piece of stone. Nas ta Bega and
Wetherill climbed straight up for a while and then wound round a
swell, to turn this way and that, always going up. I began to see
similar mounds of rock all around me, of every shape that could be
called a curve. There were yellow domes far above and small red domes
far below. Ridges ran from one hill of rock to another. There were
no abrupt breaks, but holes and pits and caves were everywhere, and
occasionally deep down, an amphitheater green with cedar and piñon. We
found no vestige of trail on those bare slopes.

Our guides led to the top of the wall, only to disclose to us another
wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, and scalloped depression between.
Here footing began to be precarious for both man and beast. Our
mustangs were not shod and it was wonderful to see their slow, short,
careful steps. They knew a great deal better than we what the danger
was. It has been such experiences as this that have made me see in
horses something besides beasts of burden. In the ascent of the second
slope it was necessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taking
advantage of every bulge and depression.

Then before us twisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous
slopes I had ever seen. We had reached the height of the divide and
many of the drops on this side were perpendicular and too steep for us
to see the bottom.

[Illustration: THIS IMMENSE CAVE WOULD HOLD TRINITY CHURCH. IN IT LIES
THE RUINED CLIFF DWELLING CALLED BETATAKIN]