It was noon when we mounted our horses and rode down the stony incline. We moved along around the hills again, and seemed hardly to leave the spot, for we frequently rode for half an hour, and then suddenly found ourselves again in front of an old withered tree, or a rock emerging from the cedars which we had seen before. We rode without interruption until the sun hid itself behind the highest peaks, and cast long shadows over the hills glistening in the evening light. The sunny spots on the mountains constantly grew smaller, until at length only a single cone stood up as if gilt above the dark country. We had not yet seen a trace of the Rio Grande, and we must still be a good distance from it, for from the highest points we crossed we could see nothing as far as the horizon, except the same conical hills covered with gloomy foliage. We halted in one of the countless hollows of these stony mountains where rain-water had collected, and decent grass grew on a small open space, took the burdens off our very wearied horses, and soon lay on our skins near the fire. A very large dry cedar trunk rose with its upper half out of the coppice. We lit our fire against its side, so that it soon began to smoulder and gave out a great heat. During the night we scarce needed to look at it, and in the morning found small flames still playing round the half-burnt tree. A strong breeze was blowing when we crawled out from under our buffalo robes. We threw plenty of wood on the burning trunk, and felt very comfortable in the warmth. While our cattle were eating their scanty breakfast, we roasted bear and antelope meat, and drank in coffee the health of the condors that had supplied us with the game. Ere long, however, we mounted, in order to bid farewell the sooner to these inhospitable forests, and see once more the frontiers of my home--the Rio Grande.