When the shaken couple left, we debated whether to go ahead. Perhaps the masked pair awaited us in the road beyond. Finally deciding they would be no more anxious to meet us than we them, we hid our valuables, I in my hat and Toby under the floor. Before we finished, a Ford approached driven by two men of villainous appearance enhanced by a week’s beard, and criminal looking red shirts. Seeing us they wavered, slowed down and seemed about to stop beside us, then changed their minds and dashed past, looking at us searchingly. Their peculiar conduct and unprepossessing features made us certain that they were the thieves. Our long expected bandits had come, and had passed us for a little man in a flivver with nine dollars. We were to a certain extent relieved, I must confess. Still, when you go west adventuring, your friends expect you to be held up by outlaws, and you hate to disappoint them with an anti-climax. When we reported the incident at “Flag,” the Flagstaffians seemed wounded in their municipal pride. Nothing of that sort, they said, had happened for years, and asked if we had visited the Observatory. Flagstaff is no longer a frontier town. I bought a hat there which was afterward admired in Boston, if that signifies anything. The town is best known for its observatory, which we drove up a beautiful winding hill to view, and found it looked like any other observatory. There are some cliff dwellings overlooking a pretty little green ravine, called Walnut Canyon. Dominating all Flagstaff the crescent of cold San Francisco peaks looks benignly over half Arizona, lovely in their bold and serene silhouette.