remains for some imaginative writer of animal-stories to inform
us. From the ledge to the valley below the trail is free from
obstructions, and broader, more beaten, and less devious than
above, indicating that it has been formed by the generations of
men toiling up from the valley to the natural watch-tower on the
heights. Reaching the ledge, the prospector found that what
seemed from the angle above to be an irregular pile of large
boulders was an artificial fortification, the highest wall being
toward the mountains. Entering the enclosure the prospector
dismounted, relieved his horse of its saddle and his burro of its
pack, and proceeded to prepare his midday meal. Looking for the
best place where he might light a fire, he observed, in the most
protected corner, a flat stone, marked by fire, and near it, in
the rocky ground, a pot-hole, evidently formed for grinding
maize. The ashes of ancient fires were scattered about, and in
cleaning them off his new-found hearth the man discovered a
potsherd, apparently of a native olla or water-jar, and a chipped
fragment of flint, too small to indicate whether it had formed
part of an Indian arrowhead or had dropped from an old flintlock
musket.

"Lucky strike!" observed the prospector. "I was down to my last
match." And, gathering some mesquit brush for fuel, and rubbing
a dead branch into tinder, he drew out a knife and, rapidly and
repeatedly striking the back of its blade with the flint,
produced a stream of sparks, which fell on the tinder. Blowing
the while, he started a flame. When the fire was ready the man
shook his canteen. "Precious little drink left," he said. "I
wish that potsherd carried water as the flint-chip does fire.
However, there's lots of cactus around here, and they're natural