It was on a bright healthy morning in November that I, accompanied by Tiger and Trusty, left the fort, and rode down the river toward the Rio Grande Mountains. I had never made any excursions far beyond that river, and even when hunting had rarely reached its banks, as it is enclosed on both sides by savage rocky mountains, which neither man nor brute can easily traverse. Tiger had formerly been several times on the other side of the Rio Grande, and told me there was more game, and more especially more bears there, while rich valleys ran between the mountains. Hence I resolved to spend some weeks in those regions, and provided myself for this tour with provisions, some buffalo robes, and a small tent, which articles were carried by Jack, a most excellent mule. The animal followed my horse without being led, and I may say that it could not be kept away from it except by force. We had no trouble with it but to saddle and load it in the morning, and take off its burden again at night. It would certainly stop now and then at a fresh patch of grass and snatch a few mouthfuls, but then it galloped after us again and followed at our heels. We rested at noon at the mountain springs, which I had not visited for some time, and we were forced to cut an entrance into the little thicket, as it was completely overgrown. They rewarded us on our arrival with some fat turkeys, which were never absent there, and whose delicate meat we enjoyed, while our horses rested from their hot march over the open prairies. About 3 P.M. we started again, and rode in a northern direction toward the foot of the mountains, as Tiger told me that higher up a river ran towards the Rio Grande, with a rather broad valley on either side, and I believed that this stream must be Turkey Creek. We crossed the Leone toward evening at a shallow spot well known to me. This spot, at which I had often rested, surprises the traveller coming from the open prairie with a very pleasant scene. Bordered on both sides by the grandest vegetation, magnolias, plane-trees, and enormous oaks covered with the most splendid creepers, the foaming silvery stream dashes between scattered masses of rock, with such a roar that visitors can hardly understand each other. The atmosphere beneath these dense masses of foliage is cool and constantly fanned by the breeze produced by the violent motion of the current as it breaks on the rocks, and falls over them in countless small cascades.