But those few men I had fortunately met, who really knew Jones, more than overbalanced the doubt and ridicule cast upon him.

I recalled a scarred old veteran of the plains, who had talked to me in true Western bluntness: "Say, young feller, I heerd yer couldn't git acrost the Canyon fer the deep snow on the north rim.

Wal, ye're lucky.

Now, yer hit the trail fer New York, an' keep goin'! Don't ever tackle the desert, 'specially with them Mormons.

They've got water on the brain, wusser 'n religion.
It's two hundred an' fifty miles from Flagstaff to Jones range, an' only two drinks on the trail.