THE CABIN IN THE FLAT It was the day appointed by Ferguson for his presence at the Two Diamond ranch, and he was going to keep his word.

Three hours out of Dry Bottom he had struck the Ute trail and was loping his pony through a cottonwood that skirted the river.

It was an enchanted country through which he rode; a land of vast distances, of white sunlight, blue skies, and clear, pure air.

Mountains rose in the distances, their snowcapped peaks showing above the clouds like bald rock spires above the calm level of the sea.

Over the mountains swam the sun, its lower rim slowly disappearing behind the peaks, throwing off broad white shafts of light that soon began to dim as vari-colors, rising in a slumberous haze like a gauze veil, mingled with them.
Ferguson's gaze wandered from the trail to the red buttes that fringed the river.