While ascending the last step to the rim Hare revolved in his mind the probabilities of marking a straight course to Silver Cup.

“Oh!  Jack!” exclaimed Mescal, suddenly.  “Vermillion Cliffs and home!”

“I’ve travelled in a circle!” replied Hare.

Mescal was enraptured at the scene.  Vermillion Cliffs shone red as a rose.  The split in the wall marking the oasis defined its outlines sharply against the sky.  Miles of the Colorado River lay in sight.  Hare knew he stood on the highest point of Coconina overhanging the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert, thousands of feet below.  He noted the wondrous abyss sleeping in blue mist at his feet, while he gazed across to the desert awakening in the first red rays of the rising sun.

“Mescal, your Thunder River Canyon is only one little crack in the rocks.  It is lost in this chasm,” said Hare.

“It’s lost, surely.  I can t even see the tip of the peak that stood so high over the valley.”

Once more turning to the left Hare ran his eye over the Vermillion Cliffs, and the strip of red sand shining under them, and so calculating his bearings he headed due north for Silver Cup.  What with the snow and the soggy ground the first mile was hard going for Hare, and Silvermane often sank deep.  Once off the level spur of the mountain they made better time, for the snow thinned out on the slope and gradually gave way to the brown dry aisles of the forest.  Hare mounted in front of Mescal, and put the stallion to an easy trot; after two hours of riding they struck a bridle-trail which Hare recognized as one leading down to the spring.  In another hour they reached the steep slope of Coconina, and saw the familiar red wall across the valley, and caught glimpses of gray sage patches down through the pines.

“I smell smoke,” said Hare.

“The boys must be at the spring,” rejoined Mescal.

“Maybe.  I want to be sure who’s there.  We’ll leave the trail and slip down through the woods to the left.  I wish we could get down on the home side of the spring.  But we can’t; we’ve got to pass it.”

With many a pause to peer through openings in the pines Hare traversed a diagonal course down the slope, crossed the line of cedars, and reached the edge of the valley a mile or more above Silver Cup.  Then he turned toward it, still cautiously leading Silvermane under cover of the fringe of cedars.

“Mescal, there are too many cattle in the valley,” he said, looking at her significantly.

“They can’t all be ours, that’s sure,” she replied.  “What do you think?”

“Holderness!” With the word Hare’s face grew set and stern.  He kept on, cautiously leading the horse under the cedars, careful to avoid breaking brush or rattling stones, occasionally whispering to Wolf; and so worked his way along the curve of the woody slope till further progress was checked by the bulging wall of rock.