Arizona Nights | Page 7

and a branding-iron," said he.
Then we worked up gradually to a divide, whence we could see a range
of wild and rugged mountains on our right. They rose by slopes and
ledges, steep and rough, and at last ended in the thousand-foot cliffs of
the buttes, running sheer and unbroken for many miles. During all the
rest of our trip they were to be our companions, the only constant
factors in the tumult of lesser peaks, precipitous canons, and twisted
systems in which we were constantly involved.
The sky was sun-and-shadow after the rain. Each and every Arizonan
predicted clearing.
"Why, it almost never rains in Arizona," said Jed Parker. "And when it
does it quits before it begins."
Nevertheless, about noon a thick cloud gathered about the tops of the
Galiuros above us. Almost immediately it was dissipated by the wind,
but when the peaks again showed, we stared with astonishment to see
that they were white with snow. It was as though a magician had passed
a sheet before them the brief instant necessary to work his great
transformation. Shortly the sky thickened again, and it began to rain.
Travel had been precarious before; but now its difficulties were
infinitely increased. The clay sub-soil to the rubble turned slippery and
adhesive. On the sides of the mountains it was almost impossible to
keep a footing. We speedily became wet, our hands puffed and purple,
our boots sodden with the water that had trickled from our clothing into
them.
"Over the next ridge," Uncle Jim promised us, "is an old shack that I
fixed up seven years ago. We can all make out to get in it."
Over the next ridge, therefore, we slipped and slid, thanking the god of

luck for each ten feet gained. It was growing cold. The cliffs and
palisades near at hand showed dimly behind the falling rain; beyond
them waved and eddied the storm mists through which the mountains
revealed and concealed proportions exaggerated into unearthly
grandeur. Deep in the clefts of the box canons the streams were filling.
The roar of their rapids echoed from innumerable precipices. A soft
swish of water usurped the world of sound.
Nothing more uncomfortable or more magnificent could be imagined.
We rode shivering. Each said to himself, "I can stand this--right
now--at the present moment. Very well; I will do so, and I will refuse
to look forward even five minutes to what I may have to stand," which
is the true philosophy of tough times and the only effective way to
endure discomfort.
By luck we reached the bottom of that canon without a fall. It was wide,
well grown with oak trees, and belly deep in rich horse feed--an ideal
place to camp were it not for the fact that a thin sheet of water a quarter
of an inch deep was flowing over the entire surface of the ground. We
spurred on desperately, thinking of a warm fire and a chance to steam.
The roof of the shack had fallen in, and the floor was six inches deep in
adobe mud.
We did not dismount--that would have wet our saddles--but sat on our
horses taking in the details. Finally Uncle Jim came to the front with a
suggestion.
"I know of a cave," said he, "close under a butte. It's a big cave, but it
has such a steep floor that I'm not sure as we could stay in it; and it's
back the other side of that ridge."
"I don't know how the ridge is to get back over--it was slippery enough
coming this way--and the cave may shoot us out into space, but I'd like
to LOOK at a dry place anyway," replied the Cattleman.
We all felt the same about it, so back over the ridge we went. About
half way down the other side Uncle Jim turned sharp to the right, and

as the "hog back" dropped behind us, we found ourselves out on the
steep side of a mountain, the perpendicular cliff over us to the right, the
river roaring savagely far down below our left, and sheets of water
glazing the footing we could find among the boulders and debris.
Hardly could the ponies keep from slipping sideways on the slope, as
we proceeded farther and farther from the solidity of the ridge behind
us, we experienced the illusion of venturing out on a tight rope over
abysses of space. Even the feeling of danger was only an illusion,
however, composite of the falling rain, the deepening twilight, and the
night that had already enveloped the plunge of the canon below. Finally
Uncle Jim stopped just within the drip from the cliffs.
"Here she is," said he.
We descended eagerly. A deer bounded away from the base of