“Here, John, take a look at these pups!” called the Colonel, as the crate was set down and he fumbled for his keys. Unlocking its door, Pepper, Bourbon and Lee climbed out and shook themselves all over. At sight of them Ruler bared fangs and flew at them. He didn’t know his own offspring! A furious dog-fight ensued. They booted the dogs apart, and a growly peace was enforced;--in the midst of which there was a rapid clatter of hoofs and the two cowboys the boys had seen from the car window came loping in, to be introduced by Big John. “This here’s Red Jake, an’ t’other’s Mesa Joe, Colonel,” explained Big John, introducing them. “Up at Hinchman’s they just natchelly lives hearty on fried t’rantulas an’ centipedes, reg’lar; but they ain’t nohow averse to eatin’ a baked Apache if they kin ketch one. The Colonel here, fellows, is one of the old original Geronimo hunters,--an’ these is his cubs,” concluded Big John, introducing the boys with a final wave of his hand. Red Jake and Joe grinned, but said nothing, as they shook hands all around. “Wait till we gets you out behind the bunk house, John!” muttered the red-haired one behind his hand, as they looked the Colonel over respectfully, glad to meet an old Indian fighter. Both were typical Arizonans, leathery and lean and sunburned, with hard, gray eyes all puckered from the constant desert glare. “Well, Sid, climb this here twister and we’ll get up the bad lands to the rim,” said Big John, as the ranch teamsters finished piling their duffel into the wagon. “All ready, sir?”--this to the Colonel--“we gotta make Navaho Wells by sundown.” Sid found that his pony was trained to start as soon as his foot touched the stirrup. His pinto bolted off with him, with the rest of the outfit strung after in hot pursuit. Presently the two Arizonans passed him like the wind, their horses thundering by in a cloud of dust. All Sid had ever dreamed about riding was nothing to this! He yelled and waved his hat, whereat the “twister” rose and bucked and sunfished, requiring an iron knee grip and a yank on his Mexican curb to bring him to earth again. With Ruler and the pups leaping around the horses’ heads, it was a furious race for a while, but then came the steep ascent through bare and hideous clayey ravines. Arrived at the top, the party stopped to rest the horses and there was a chance to look around. This was a mighty red and purple land, thought Sid, as his eyes rested, now on the snowy cones of the San Francisco peaks, a hundred miles to the west, now on the endless jumble of flat mesas to the north of him. It was a land of great horizontal ridges, yellow and red and blue and black; sloping up, sloping down, always in immensely long, gentle slants. And between them there were rocky talus beds strewn with pebbles and bowlders. Of vegetation there was almost none.