the forest, crossing half a dozen swift
little streams of amber water, where a year before all had been dry as
tinder. We found Haught's camp in a grove of yellowing aspens. Haught
was there to meet us. He had not changed any more than the rugged pine
tree under which a year past we had made our agreement. He wore the same
blue shirt and the old black sombrero.

"Hello Haught," was my greeting, as I dismounted and pulled out my
watch. "I'm four hours and a quarter late. Sorry. I could have made it,
but didn't want to leave the wagons."

"Wal, wal, I shore am glad to see you," he replied, with a keen flash in
his hazel eyes and a smile on his craggy face. "I reckoned you'd make
it. How are you? Look sort of fagged."

"Just about all in, Haught," I replied, as we shook hands.

Then Copple appeared, swaggering out of the aspens. He was the man I met
in Payson and who so kindly had made me take his rifle. I had engaged
him also for this hunt. A brawny man he was, with powerful shoulders,
swarthy-skinned, and dark-eyed, looking indeed the Indian blood he
claimed.

"Wouldn't have recognized you anywhere's else," he said.

These keen-eyed outdoor men at a glance saw the havoc work and pain had
played with me. They were solicitous, and when I explained my condition
they made light of that, and showed relief that I was not ill. "Saw wood
an' rustle around," said Haught. And Copple said: "He needs venison an'
bear meat."

They rode back with us up to the wagons. Copple had been a freighter. He
picked out a way to drive down into the canyon. So rough and steep it
was that I did not believe driving down would be possible. But with axes
and pick and shovel, and a heaving of rocks, they worked a road that Lee
drove down. Some places were almost straight down. But the ground was
soft, hoofs and wheels sank deeply, and though one wagon lurched almost
over, and the heavily laden chuck-wagon almost hurdled the team, Lee
made the bad places without accident. Two hours after our arrival, such
was the labor of many strong hands, we reached our old camp ground. One
thing was certain, however, and that was we would never get back up the
way we came down.

Except for a luxuriance of grass and ferns, and two babbling streams of
water, our old camp ground had not changed. I sat down with mingled
emotions. How familiarly beautiful and lonely this canyon glade! The
great pines and spruces looked down upon me with a benediction. How
sere