On The Third Day, We Came To The Place Where The Soldiers Descended From The Plateau Above Into The Depths Of The Canyon. There Was No Well-Defined Trail, And The Slope Was Steep Enough To Make One's Flesh Creep.

The site was marked with disaster.

Here a pack mule had slipped, fallen, and been dashed to pieces; there a man had fallen and been killed. It was a difficult descent, but nerve and pluck had accomplished it. Beyond was the Pack-a-tha-true-ye-ba Spring, and after seeing its water I determined that we must return.

Capturing Wild Ponies. On our way back, Sinyela made a proposition that, as our ponies were exceedingly weary, we catch some fresh ones of his, for this was his "stock range," and he knew where there were plenty of good animals. The horses were wild, as range horses generally are, but Sinyela was crafty. He knew of a blind ravine, or rocky pocket, into which we could drive the horses we needed, and to that end all our energies were directed. Darting back and forth to arrest the dodging and fleeing animals, we at length succeeded in "penning" about a dozen horses in the pocket. Then I watched Sinyela, hand extended, slowly and stealthily approach the pony he needed. Time and again, as he got nearer and nearer, all the time making a peculiar sissing sound, the horse would suddenly swing around and endeavor to dash away. But I was "guard of the gate," and it was my business to see that none of the band escaped.

Enter page number Go  Previous Next
Page 193 of 322
Words from 51118 to 51383 of 85893