They had nearly reached the upper end of the long slope when Phil
abruptly reined his horse to the left and rode straight up that rugged,
rock-strewn mountain wall. To Patches it seemed impossible that a horse
could climb such a place; but he said nothing, and wisely gave Snip his
head. They were nearly at the top--so near, in fact, that Phil could see
over the narrow crest--when the cowboy suddenly checked his horse and
slipped from the saddle. With a gesture he bade his companion follow his
example, and in a moment Patches stood beside him. Leaving their horses,
they crept the few remaining feet to the summit. Crouching low, then
lying prone, they worked their way to the top of a huge rounded rock,
from which they could look over and down upon the country that lies
beyond.

Patches uttered a low exclamation, but Phil's instant grip on his arm
checked further speech.

From where they lay, they looked down upon a great mountain basin of
gently rolling, native grass land. From the foot of that rocky ridge,
the beautiful pasture stretches away, several miles, to the bold, gray
cliffs and mighty, towering battlements of Granite Mountain. On the
south, a range of dark hills, and to the north, a series of sharp
peaks, form the natural boundaries.

"Do you see them?" whispered Phil.

Patches looked at him inquiringly. The stranger's interest in that
wonderful scene had led him to overlook that which held his companion's
attention.

"There," whispered Phil impatiently, "on the side of that hill