-worn ledges, sycamore and juniper trees, red and
yellow flowers, and dark, beautiful green pools. I espied tiny gray
frogs, reminding me of those I found in the gulches of the Grand
Canyon. Many huge black beetles, some alive, but most of them dead,
lined the wet borders of the pools. A species of fish that resembled
mullet lay in the shadow of the rocks.

From underneath the Natural Bridge showed to advantage, and if not
magnificent like the grand Nonnezoshe of Utah, it was at least
striking and beautiful. It had a rounded ceiling colored gray, yellow,
green, bronze, purple, white, making a crude and scalloped mosaic.
Water dripped from it like a rain of heavy scattered drops. The left
side was dryest and large, dark caves opened up, one above the other,
the upper being so high that it was dangerous to attempt reaching it.
The right side was slippery and wet. All rocks were thickly encrusted
with lime salt. Doyle told us that any object left under the ceaseless
drip, drip of the lime water would soon become encrusted, and heavy as
stone. The upper opening of the arch was much higher and smaller than
the lower. Any noise gave forth strange and sepulchral echoes. Romer
certainly made the welkin ring. A streak of sunlight shone through a
small hole in the thinnest part of the roof. Doyle pointed out the
high cave where Indians had once lived, showing the markings of their
fire. Also he told a story of Apaches being driven into the highest
cave from which they had never escaped. This tale was manifestly to
Romer's liking and I had to use force to keep him from risking his
neck. A very strong breeze blew under the arch. When we rolled a
boulder into the large, dark pool it gave forth a hollow boom, boom,
boom, growing hollower the deeper it went. I tried to interest Romer
in some bat nests in crevices high up, but the boy wanted to roll
stones and fish for the mullet. When we climbed out and were once more
on a level I asked him what he thought of the place. "Some hole--I'll
say!" he panted, breathlessly.

The rancher told me that the summer rains began there about July, and
the snows about the first of the year. Snow never lay long on the
lower slopes. Apaches had lived there forty years ago and had
cultivated the soil. There was gold in the mountains of the Four Peaks
Range. In this sheltered nook the weather was never severely cold or
hot; and I judged from the quaint talk of the rancher's wife that life
there was alw