CHAPTER FOUR
THE CATTLE RUSTLERS

Dawn broke, so we descended through wet grasses to the canon.
There, after some difficulty, we managed to start a fire, and
so ate breakfast, the rain still pouring down on us. About
nine o'clock, with miraculous suddenness, the torrent stopped.
It began to turn cold. The Cattleman and I decided to climb to
the top of the butte after meat, which we entirely lacked.

It was rather a stiff ascent, but once above the sheer cliffs we
found ourselves on a rolling meadow tableland a half-mile broad
by, perhaps, a mile and a half in length. Grass grew high;
here and there were small live oaks planted park-like; slight and
rounded ravines accommodated brooklets. As we walked back, the
edges blended in the edges of the mesa across the canon. The
deep gorges, which had heretofore seemed the most prominent
elements of the scenery, were lost. We stood, apparently, in
the middle of a wide and undulating plain, diversified by little
ridges, and running with a free sweep to the very foot of the
snowy Galiuros. It seemed as though we should be able to ride
horseback in almost any given direction. Yet we knew that ten
minutes' walk would take us to the brink of most stupendous
chasms--so deep that the water flowing in them hardly seemed to
move; so rugged that only with the greatest difficulty could a
horseman make his way through the country at all; and yet so
ancient that the bottoms supported forests, rich grasses, and
rounded, gentle knolls. It was a most astonishing set of double