don running toward the southwest. The track we followed, our guide
assured us, was _el camino de los antiguos_, but it probably was
only an Apache trail. The cordon was rather narrow, and from time
to time gave us sweeping views of the stupendous landscape in one
direction or another, as the animals slowly made their way up and
finally reached the summit. A grandly beautiful sight awaited us;
we went a little out of our way to gain a promontory, which, our
guide said, was designated "Punto Magnifico." It was at an elevation
of 8,200 feet, and gave us certainly the most strikingly magnificent
view of the Sierra Madre we yet had enjoyed.

An ocean of mountains spread out before and below us. In the midst
of it, right in front of us, were imposing pine-clad mesas and two
weathered pinnacles of reddish conglomerate, while further on there
followed range after range, peak after peak; the most distant ones,
toward the south, seeming at least as far as eighty miles away. The
course of the rivers, as they flow deep down between the mountains,
was pointed out to us. The principal one is the Arros River, which
from the west embraces most of the mesas, and then, turning south,
receives its tributaries, the Tutuhuaca and the Mulatos, the latter
just behind a pinnacle. West of the Arros River stretches out the
immense Mesa de los Apaches, once a stronghold of these marauders,
reaching as far as the Rio Bonito. The plateau is also called "The
Devil's Spine Mesa," after a high and very narrow ridge, which rises
conspicuously from the mesa's western edge and runs in a northerly
and southerly direction, like the edge of a gigantic saw. To our
amazement, the guide here indicated to us where the camino real from
Nacori passes east over a gap in the "Devil's Spine" ridge, and then
over several sharp buttes that descend toward the mesa. An odd-looking
mesa lay between Rio Bonito and Rio Satachi. Farthest to the west
were the big hogbacks near Nacori, standing out ominously, like a
perpetuated flash of lightning. The sun was nearing the horizon; the
air was translucent, and the entire panorama steeped in a dusky blue.

Immediately below us, to our left, lay Guaynopa. The mountainside
looked so steep that it seemed impossible for us to descend from
where we were. But we already heard the voices of our muleteers
singing out to the animals 1,000 feet below, and that reminded us
that we also had better reach camp before darkness should overtake