"Never knowed him to run in this way fer water; fact is, never knowed Nail Canyon had a fork.

It splits down here, but you'd think it was only a crack in the wall.

An' thet cunnin' mustang hes been foolin' us fer years about this water-hole." The fork of Nail Canyon, which Stewart had decided we were in, had been accidentally discovered by Frank, who, in search of our horses one morning had crossed a ridge, to come suddenly upon the blind, box-like head of the canyon.

Stewart knew the lay of the ridges and run of the canyons as well as any man could know a country where, seemingly, every rod was ridged and bisected, and he was of the opinion that we had stumbled upon one of the White Mustang's secret passages, by which he had so often eluded his pursuers.
Hard riding had been the order of the day, but still we covered ten more miles by sundown.

The canyon apparently closed in on us, so camp was made for the night.