Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail.
Brighter and brighter grew the light.

He mounted the last broken edge of rim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory.
Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro.
"We're up!" he cried, joyously.

"There's not a dot on the sage We're safe.

We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess--" Ring growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled.

Venters clutched at his rifle.