THE CATTLE RUSTLERS Dawn broke, so we descended through wet grasses to the canon.

There, after some difficulty, we managed to start a fire, and so ate breakfast, the rain still pouring down on us.

About nine o'clock, with miraculous suddenness, the torrent stopped.

It began to turn cold.
The Cattleman and I decided to climb to the top of the butte after meat, which we entirely lacked.
It was rather a stiff ascent, but once above the sheer cliffs we found ourselves on a rolling meadow tableland a half-mile broad by, perhaps, a mile and a half in length.

Grass grew high; here and there were small live oaks planted park-like; slight and rounded ravines accommodated brooklets.