g that
in the south there is no railroad until you strike the Southern Pacific.
And that's a long distance to drive cattle."

When the herd began to move the following morning, Blackburn sent them
over the mesa for several miles, and then began to head them down a
gradual slope, leaving the mesa behind. There was a faint trail, narrow,
over which in other days cattle had been driven. For the grass had been
trampled and cut to pieces; and in some places there were still prints
of hoofs in the baked soil.

The slope grew sharper, narrowing as it descended, and the cattle moved
down it in a sinuous, living line, until the leaders were out of sight
far around a bend at least a mile distant.

Blackburn was at the head of the herd with three men, riding some little
distance in front of the cattle, inspecting the trail. Lawler and the
others were holding the stragglers at the top of the mesa, endeavoring
to prevent the crowding and confusion which always results when massed
cattle are being held at an outlet. It was like a crowd of eager humans
attempting to gain entrance through a doorway at the same instant. The
cattle were plunging, jostling. The concerted impulse brought the
inevitable confusion--a jam that threatened frenzy.

By Lawler's orders the men drew off, and the cattle, relieved of the
menace which always drives them to panic in such a situation, began to
filter through and to follow their leaders down the narrow trail.

Down, always down, the trail led, growing narrower gradually, until at
last cattle and men were moving slowly on a rocky floor with the sheer
wall of the mesa on one side and towering mountains on the other.

The clatter of hoofs, the clashing of horns, the bellowing, the rumble
of the wagons over the rocks and the ring of iron-shod hoofs, created a
bedlam of sound, which echoed and re-echoed from the towering walls
until the uproar was deafening.

Shorty, the tawny-haired giant, was riding close to Lawler.

He never had ridden the trail, though he had heard of it. He leaned over
and shouted to Lawler:

"Kinney's canon, ain't it?"

Lawler nodded.

"Well," shouted Shorty; "it's a lulu, ain't it?"

For a short time the trail led downward. Then there came a level
stretch, smooth, damp. The day was hours old, and the sun was directly
overhead. But down in the depths of the canon it was cool; and a strong
wind blew into the faces of the men.

The herd was perhaps an hour passing through