reaching spurs of
pine-clad ridges between which lay Rattlesnake Valley. Due south, as
Lonesome Pete's outstretched finger indicated, lay the road which they
were to follow and the headquarters of the Half Moon. There again a
thickly timbered spur of the mountains ran down into the plain on each
side of a deeply cleft canon from which Lonesome Pete told them that
Indian Creek issued, and in which were the main corrals and the range
house of the Half Moon.

"Which is sure the finest up-an'-down cow-country I ever see," he
added, by way of rounding off his information. "Bein' well watered by
that same crick, an' havin' good feed both in the Big Flat, as folks
calls that country down below us, an' in the foothills. Rattlesnake
Valley, over yonder, ain't never been good for much exceptin' the
finest breed of serpents an' horn-toads a man ever see outside a
circus or the jimjams. There ain't nothin' as 'll grow there outside
them animals. The ol' man's workin' over there now, tryin' to throw
water on it an' make things grow. The ol' man," he ended, shaking his
head dubiously, "has put acrost some big jobs, but I reckon he's sorta
up against it this trip."

"Reclamation work," nodded Conniston.

"That's what some folks calls it. Others calls it plumb foolishness.
Git up, there, Lady! Stan' aroun', you pinto hoss!"

An hour more of winding in and out, back and forth, along the narrow
grade cut into the sides of the hills, just wide enough for one team
at the time, with here and there a wider place where wagons might meet
and pass, and they were down in the Half Moon country. The cowboy let
his horses out into a swinging trot; Conniston followed just far
enough behind to escape their dust; and the miles slipped swiftly
behind them.

They had crossed the floor of the lower Half Moon and were moving up a
gentle slope leading along the spur of the mountains to the right of
Indian Creek when they met one of the Half Moon cowboys driving a
small band of saddle-horses ahead of him. Lonesome Pete stopped for a
word with him, and Conniston, seeing the road plain ahead, rode on
alone. A mile farther and he had entered the forest of pines through
which the road lay, winding and twisting to avoid the boles of the
larger trees or the big scattered boulders which were many upon the
steepening slope. Now he could seldom see more than a hundred yards in
front of him, and now he had left the stifling heat behind him for the
cool shadows