floodgates of heaven had opened over our unfortunate heads. It was
impossible to stay in the glue-and-gumbo road, so we took to the open
prairie. Since this part of the country is well ventilated with
prairie-dog holes, we had anything but smooth sailing.

"Stop," I shouted, trying to make myself heard above the roar of the
storm.

"No time to stop now," was the answer.

We pulled under a sheltering juniper and slowed up.

"What did you want to stop there for? Don't you know we have to keep on
moving if we reach a shelter tonight?" inquired the pilot of our ship.
He had evidently been brooding over my unseemly mirth at the mad cow
episode.

"Oh, all right," I agreed, "but the bedding-roll bounced out and I
thought you might want to pick it up." The fugitive bedding recovered,
we resumed our journey.

The storm ended as suddenly as everything else happens in that
topsy-turvy land and in the eastern sky hung a double quivering rainbow.
I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It _was_ double! The Chief explained
that this was due to a mirage, but I placed it to the credit of
altitude, like all other Arizona wonders.

At Hilltop we found Indian guides with trail ponies to take us the rest
of the way. They had been waiting two days for us, they said. Strolling
to the Canyon's brink I encountered a fearful odor. "What in the world