The warm sun soared to the zenith. Jumble of
bowlders, stretches of white gravel, ridges of sage, blocks of granite,
thickets of manzanita, long yellow slopes, crumbling crags, clumps of
cedar and lines of pinon--all were passed in the persistent plodding
climb. The canon grew narrower toward its source; the creek lost its
volume; patches of snow gleamed in sheltered places. At last the
yellow-streaked walls edged out upon a grassy hollow and the great dark
pines of Coconina shadowed the snow.
"We're up," panted Hare. "What a climb! Five hours! One more day--then
home!"
Silvermane's ears shot up and Wolf barked. Two gray deer loped out of a
thicket and turned inquisitively. Reaching for his rifle Hare threw back
the lever, but the action clogged, it rasped with the sound of crunching
sand, and the cartridge could not be pressed into the chamber or ejected.
He fumbled about the breach of the gun and his brow clouded.
"Sand! Out of commission!" he exclaimed. "Mescal, I don't like that."
"Use your Colt," suggested Mescal.
The distance was too great. Hare missed, and the deer bounded away into
the forest.
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