it upon the setting I learned to know and love so well, upon the
strange passions of primitive people, and upon my instinctive reaction
to the facts and rumors that I gathered.

ZANE GREY.
AVALON, CALIFORNIA,
April, 1921



CHAPTER I

At the end of a dry, uphill ride over barren country Jean Isbel
unpacked to camp at the edge of the cedars where a little rocky
canyon green with willow and cottonwood, promised water and grass.

His animals were tired, especially the pack mule that had carried a
heavy load; and with slow heave of relief they knelt and rolled in
the dust. Jean experienced something of relief himself as he threw
off his chaps. He had not been used to hot, dusty, glaring days on
the barren lands. Stretching his long length beside a tiny rill of
clear water that tinkled over the red stones, he drank thirstily.
The water was cool, but it had an acrid taste--an alkali bite that
he did not like. Not since he had left Oregon had he tasted clear,
sweet, cold water; and he missed it just as he longed for the stately
shady forests he had loved. This wild, endless Arizona land bade
fair to earn his hatred.

By the time he had leisurely completed his tasks twilight had fallen
and coyotes had begun their barking. Jean listened to the yelps and