I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon." "And the grave, Mac ?" "Is right close to where I'll pitch the tent," said MacDonald, swinging suddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot.

"Don't waste any time, Johnny." Aldous rode back to Joanne.
"It looks like rain," he explained.

"These Pacific showers come up quickly this side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy.

Donald is going on ahead to put up a tent." By the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out of sight.

A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickled out of the gorge.