d Mitchell had lived in that lonely place
thirty years ago. Copple, as a boy, had worked for him--had ridden wild
bronchos and roped wild steers in that open, many and many a day.
Something of unconscious pathos showed in Copple's eyes as he gazed
around, and in his voice. We all hear the echoing footsteps of the past
years! In those days Copple said the ranch was overrun by wild game, and
wild horses too.

We rode on westward, to come out at length on the rim of a magnificent
canyon. It was the widest and deepest and wildest gorge I had come
across in this country. So deep that only a faint roar of running water
reached our ears! The slopes were too steep for man, let alone a horse;
and the huge cliffs and giant spruces gave it a singularly rugged
appearance. We saw deer on the opposite slope. Copple led along the
edge, searching for traces of an old trail where Mitchell used to drive
cattle across. We did not find a trail, but we found a place where
Copple said one used to be. I could see no signs of it. Here leading his
horse with one hand and wielding his little axe with the other Copple
started down. For my part I found going down remarkably easy. The only
trouble I had was to hold on, so I would not go down like a flash.
Stockings, my horse, had in a few weeks become a splendid traveler in
the forest. He had learned to restrain his spirit and use his
intelligence. Wherever I led he would go and that without any fear.
There is something fine in constant association with an intelligent
horse under such circumstances. In bad places Stockings braced his
forefeet, sat on his haunches, and slid, sometimes making me jump to get
out of his way. We found the canyon bed a narrow notch, darkly rich and
green, full of the melody of wild birds and murmuring brook, with huge
rocks all stained gold and russet, and grass as high as our knees. Frost
still lingered in the dark, cool, shady retreat; and where the sun
struck a narrow strip of the gorge there was warm, sweet, dry breath of
the forest. But for the most part, down here all was damp, dank, cool
shadow where sunshine never reached, and where the smells were of dead
leaves and wet moss and ferns and black rich earth.

Impossible we found it to ascend the other slope where we had seen the
deer, so we had to ride up the canyon, a matter greatly to my liking.
Copple thought I was hunting with him, but really, except to follow him,
I did not think of the meaning of his slow w