Buckskin mountain ran its blunt end eastward to the Canyon--in fact, formed a hundred miles of the north rim.

As it was nine thousand feet high it still held the snow, which had occasioned our lengthy desert ride to get back of the mountain.

I could see the long slopes rising out of the desert to meet the timber.
As we bowled merrily down grade I noticed that we were no longer on stony ground, and that a little scant silvery grass had made its appearance.

Then little branches of green, with a blue flower, smiled out of the clayish sand.
All of a sudden Jones stood up, and let out a wild Comanche yell.

I was more startled by the yell than by the great hand he smashed down on my shoulder, and for the moment I was dazed.
"There! look! look! the buffalo! Hi! Hi! Hi!" Below us, a few miles on a rising knoll, a big herd of buffalo shone black in the gold of the evening sun.