with a salute, which
we returned, he disappeared in the depths of the canyon headed north.

We rode south down the slope and reaching the plain turned our horses'
heads directly west.

"It seems fine to be on level stretch," remarked Tom, "after going up
and down hills, over mountains and through canyons."

It did give us a curious sense of freedom and exhilaration, very much as
when you are out of sight of land on the ocean and see the blue surges
rolling freely to the horizon.

"Let's have a race," I proposed. "Here is a good stretch."

"Hold on," cried Jim, "we aren't kids any longer. We have got to settle
down and cut out our foolishness. There is no use in tiring our ponies
out at the start, they will need all the go that is in them before we
reach the river."

Jim was right as I recognized in an instant, though my first impulse was
one of anger at being called down, but I thought better of it.

"All right, old hoss," I replied, "the jog trot for me. How far do you
expect to go to-day?"

"Well, you see the ponies are fine and fit. I calculate to make between
sixty and seventy miles."

"Whew!" I whistled, "you'll wear them out."

"Don't you believe it," replied Jim, "that's nothing awful. Why, don't
you know that those buck Indians will cover seventy-five miles in a day
and over mountains too? We'd do forty ourselves and not feel it."

"I reckon you are right," came from Tom, "this is certainly fine
traveling. We ought to make time."

It was good going. The plain was covered with short, crisp grass. The
sun was just coming up and the blue depths of dawn were broken by the
shining arrows of the sun. The shadows were stript slowly from the great
mesas and the weird buttes and strange desert sculptures stood out in
absolute distinctness.

I tell you what, it was fine to be young and fit and free in such a
country as lay around us. Hardships and sufferings were ahead of us, we
knew that, and many dangers; we had experienced them in the past.

I wish you could have a picture of us as we jogged along, sitting
securely, easily on our ponies, our rifles hung on our back, slouch hats
flapping about our ears and hiding the sunburned radiance of our
countenances as grey clouds do the sun.

Moccasins on our feet; our worn but serviceable clothes that did not
altogether conceal our muscular figures. We were hard and fit and we
ought to have been. Our hands were black as any Indians and what they
gripped they