This
mountain-torrent was about twenty feet wide, but its swiftness and foam
made it impossible to tell its depth. The trail led up-stream, and turned
so constantly that half the time Bill, the leader, was not in sight. Once
the sharp crack of his rifle halted the train. I heard crashings in the
thicket. Dick yelled for me to look up the slope, and there I saw three
gray deer with white tails raised. I heard a strange, whistling sound.
On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it on
his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower, and soon we
entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was exceedingly
rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was amazed to see the
gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several hundred feet across. The
walls were steep, and one side shelved out, making a long, shallow cave, In
the center of this amphitheatre was a deep hole from which the mountain
stream boiled and bubbled.
"Hyar we are," said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men
followed suit, and helped Dick and me down. Stockton untied our hands,
saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we were.
My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the Mexican to keep
guard over us.
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