At last we descended a canyon, and decided to camp in a level spot where several ravines met, in one of which a tiny stream of dear water oozed out of the gravel.  The inclosure was rocky-sloped, full of caves and covered with pines; and the best I could say for it was that in case of storm the camp would be well protected.  We shoveled out a deep hole in the gravel, so that it would fill up with water.  Romer had evidently enjoyed himself this day.  When I asked Isbel about him the cowboy’s hard face gleamed with a smile:  “Shore thet kid’s all right.  He’ll make a cowpuncher!” His remark pleased me.  In view of Romer’s determination to emulate the worst bandit I ever wrote about I was tremendously glad to think of him as a cowboy.  But as for myself I was tired, and the ride had been rather unprofitable, and this camp-site, to say the least, did not inspire me.  It was neither wild nor beautiful nor comfortable.  I went early to bed and slept like a log.

The following morning some of our horses were lost.  The men hunted from daylight till ten o’clock.  Then it was that I learned more about Lee’s dog Pups.  At ten-thirty Lee came in with the lost horses.  They had hidden in a clump of cedars and remained perfectly quiet, as cute as deer.  Lee put Pups on their trail.  Pups was a horse-trailing dog and he soon found them.  I had a change of feeling for Pups, then and there.

[Illustration:  The author and his men.  From left to right:  Edd Haught; Nielsen; Haught, the bear hunter; Al Doyle, pioneer Arizona guide; Lewis Pyle; Z.G.; George Haught; Ben Copple; Lee Doyle.]

The sun was high and hot when we rode off.  The pleasant and dusty stretches alternated.  About one o’clock we halted on the edge of a deep wooded ravine to take our usual noonday rest.  I scouted along the edge in the hope of seeing game of some kind.  Presently I heard the cluck-cluck of turkeys.  Slipping along to an open place I peered down to be thrilled by sight of four good-sized turkeys.  They were walking along the open strip of dry stream-bed at the bottom of the ravine.  One was chasing grasshoppers.  They were fairly close.  I took aim at one, and thought I could have hit him, but suddenly I remembered Romer and R.C.  So I slipped back and called them.

[Illustration:  Romer-boy on his favorite steed]

Hurriedly and stealthily we returned to the point where I had seen the turkeys.  Romer had a pale face and wonderfully bright eyes; his actions resembled those of a stalking Indian.  The turkeys were farther down, but still in plain sight.  I told R.C. to take the boy and slip down, and run and hide and run till they got close enough for a shot.  I would keep to the edge of the ravine.