“John, I’m thinking of doing a little pasear up into the mountains for a day or so,--by myself,” he announced, as the cowman looked up from cleaning his gory hands with a few drops from his canteen. Big John looked him over quizzically. “How ’bout me, old-timer? Colonel Colvin’ll skin me like a mule team ef I comes back without ye!” “Dad’ll understand--and I know _you_ do. This country’s got me, John! I’m just crazy to do a lone hike in it, for a while. Suppose you fellows pick me up in the Canyon on your way north? I’ll be there, and ready for you ’bout that time.” Big John grinned, as he scratched the black locks under his sombrero. “You ain’t, nohow, regular intimate with that region, is yer, Sid?” he inquired, blandly. “No, but it’s a canyon, like all the rest of them, with sheer walls and a lot of prehistoric cliff dwellers’ places in it, isn’t it?” said Sid, confidently. It is to be presumed that some of the Arizona sense of humor was infecting that stanch Montanan, Big John, for all he _said_ was, “All right, old-timer! Make it the mouth of the Monument Canyon, though, so we can find ye when we want ye.... I’ve hed that lonesome itch myself, son. You hev your blanket and tarp on the pinto’s cantle, and here’s a haunch of venison. Ef you only hed a bag of pinole, now, I’d be plumb willing to turn ye loose.” “I have,” remarked Sid, turning around to show a buckskin bag at his belt. “Parched and ground corn. You eat a tablespoonful of it and wash down with a drink,--and you’re fed for at least six hours to come. Scotty and I made a lot of it back east.” “Smart ez lightnin’, you two!” chuckled Big John, shaking his head. “After them Montana days, though, I’d trust ye anywhar, Sid. Sho’--they ain’t nawthin’ to harm you, from here to the Canyon. Git along, son--don’t I know jest what’s eatin’ ye! The Colonel kin take it out on me--I’ll fix it with him! You help me down with this yere critter, and I’ll start ye on the trail.” Between them they got the buck down the slope, and then led the horses up through the ravine to where the buck could be easily slung. Big John then shook Sid’s canteen, looked over his saddle trappings, and cut off a haunch of the venison and they slung it to Sid’s saddle bow opposite the canteen. “See thet notch, up thar in them buttes to the east, Sid?” asked Big John, pointing with a horny finger. “This here trail goes up thar, over the divide. Folly it down ’til you comes into Red Valley. This time o’ year thar ain’t much water, but thar’s plenty of tanks,--pools, like,--whar the water lays in rocky holes. Stick to the valley till you comes to the Canyon. We’ll be along thar in about two days. So long, kid! Hev it out with yourself, son--’twill do ye good!” He mounted his horse, with the buck tied across the saddle, and waved a farewell as Sid rode off up the steep trail from the river.