There is an abruptness and complexity about the upheaval of primary rock marking the park’s center that has been of advantage to renegades since that great playground’s inception in the late 50‘s. Although lately most of the caves have been electric-lighted and railings placed on the more dangerous cliff-edge paths, there remain dribbling recesses and shadowy spaces between trap-rock bowlders which suggest hide-outs. This physical condition now favored the Queer Question outlaw; enabled him to disappear from sight before Pape had resumed the chase. The painted pony, used to rocky going about the borders of the home ranch, did not hesitate over essay of the goat trail into the park’s rough heart taken by the red. In the upward scramble, his rider shifted weight in the saddle according to the conformation. Ultimately, if by devious ways, they gained the highest point in Manhattan’s eight-hundred-forty acre “paradise”—the snub-nosed pinnacle that lies off Seventy-ninth Street. Drawing rein, Pape rose in the stirrups and scanned the upturned region. From near to far, until his gaze encompassed the bench-studded walks and auto-crowded roadways on its skirts, he noted all details. So remindful of his own Yellowstone in physical features was this tamed wild-wood—and yet so different! Within its comparatively cramped quarters more love—as that emotion is known to park-habitués—than he had seen in the whole vast West was on display. The turfed stretches were safety-razored, rather than allowed to grow nature’s full beards. The only furred creatures in evidence—except chipmunks and squirrels—were worn about the shoulders of fair bipeds instead of prowling on four feet, uncured, through the underbrush. From the steel framework of a new sky-scraper that rose like a fire-stripped forest on the east to the turreted peaks of a range of apartment houses on the west, the scene invited comparison in detail. But Pape had no time for detail except the one of a live dash of sorrel. The vital greens of grass and trees were rife, the deep blues of lakes, the silver of sunlight on the distances and the more mysterious regal purple of shadows. So far as concerned any splash of tabasco red, however, he might better have been seeking a maverick on the outreaches of Hellroaring. Twice had he shifted his point of survey when he was rewarded by sudden sight of the steer upon a rhododendron covered mound, not more than a city block away. Unconcernedly the long-horn trotted onto the scene, glanced about, then slowed to a walk and began to browse. The hope of recapturing the fine creature uninjured before he injured others re-awoke in Pape. A cautious approach, a forward swish of rope, a forceful reaction— Unless luck all lay with his too rampant escutcheon, the chapter might be closed.