That trail was steep, narrow, clogged with stones, and as full of sharp corners as a crosscut saw.

Once on the descent with a packed mule and a spirited horse, Jean had no time for mind wanderings and very little for occasional glimpses out over the cedar tops to the vast blue hollow asleep under a westering sun.
The stones rattled, the dust rose, the cedar twigs snapped, the little avalanches of red earth slid down, the iron-shod hoofs rang on the rocks.

This slope had been narrow at the apex in the Rim where the trail led down a crack, and it widened in fan shape as Jean descended.
He zigzagged down a thousand feet before the slope benched into dividing ridges.

Here the cedars and junipers failed and pines once more hid the sun.

Deep ravines were black with brush.