SNAKE GULCH Not far from the scene of our adventure with the White Streak as we facetious and appreciatively named the mustang, deep, flat cave indented the canyon wall.

By reason of its sandy floor and close proximity to Frank's trickling spring, we decided to camp in it.

About dawn Lawson and Stewart straggled in on spent horse and found awaiting them a bright fire, a hot supper and cheery comrades.
"Did yu fellars git to see him ?" was the ranger's first question.
"Did we get to see him ?" echoed five lusty voice as one.

"We did!" It was after Frank, in his plain, blunt speech had told of our experience, that the long Arizonian gazed fixedly at Jones.
"Did yu acktully tech the hair of thet mustang with a rope ?" In all his days Jones never had a greater complement.

By way of reply, he moved his big hand to button of his coat, and, fumbling over it, unwound a string of long, white hairs, then said: "I pulled these out of his tail with my lasso; it missed his left hind hoof about six inches." There were six of the hairs, pure, glistening white, and over three feet long.