They headed over, and presently the dim outlines of the horses showed up. Colonel Colvin greeted them delightedly and then explained briefly to Niltci his plan. The Indian boy agreed, submissively, and they all set off down into the canyon. A mile further they broke into a trot with Niltci hanging to the Colonel’s stirrup. “Of course there’s plenty of good hunting, boys, all over this wonderful Arizona,” said the Colonel as they rode along. “All through the canyons of the pine belt south of Flagstaff there is deer and bear, and we could reach it by riding southwest from here. But I want you to see the Grand Canyon,--the big sight that no American should permit himself to miss,--and the way to get it all, and first-class big game hunting besides, is from that vast network of canyons and crags back of the north rim. It’s a desert ride, either way we decide to go, southwest to the pine belt or west to the Ferry. We’ll take the latter. It’s eighty miles from here and just one drink the whole way. Here’s where our oats-and-water scheme scintillates, for we can do it in three days, with good grain feed and water enough to keep the horses full of pep.” As they debouched from Canyon Cheyo the pack train was halted to make these adjustments. All the pannier water cans were filled from the brook and a full bucket of oats taken out of them was fed to each horse. The rest was put in gunny sacks and the loads redistributed so that there was an extra cayuse for Niltci to ride. They fixed up an improvised saddle made of a tarp, a folded blanket and a cinch strap for him, and then all the spare stuff was cached. Bidding the running stream a last good-by, the train started climbing up a mighty ravine that led out to the vast desert plateau to the west. Arrived at the head of it, a high mesa greeted them, stretching for miles to the northwest. Under its flanks the party rode, while the soft, cold desert wind sifted the desert sand in a faintly audible ticking around the horses’ feet. It was a tired and sleepy party that saw the sunrise, five hours later, with thirty miles of travel behind them. Bare desolation, and color, color, color, everywhere the eye roamed! Blue cliffs, red cliffs, yellow cliffs, black buttes; and, to the west, the enchanted walls of the ghostly White Mesa. During the heat of the day the train halted under the shade of a rocky nest of bowlders as high as a house, and the horses were fed and watered and picketed out to nibble what sparse vegetation they could find. The four men spread out bed rolls, and, with the four dogs insisting on bunking in their midst, slept in an indescribable huddle, too tired to boot them off.