When his eyes unclosed, day had come again, and he saw the rim of the opposite wall tipped with the gold of sunrise.  A few moments sufficed for the morning’s simple camp duties.  Near at hand he found Wrangle, and to his surprise the horse came to him.  Wrangle was one of the horses that left his viciousness in the home corral.  What he wanted was to be free of mules and burros and steers, to roll in dust-patches, and then to run down the wide, open, windy sage-plains, and at night browse and sleep in the cool wet grass of a springhole.  Jerd knew the sorrel when he said of him, “Wait till he smells the sage!”

Venters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leaping astride, rode up the canyon, with Ring and Whitie trotting behind.  An old grass-grown trail followed the course of a shallow wash where flowed a thin stream of water.  The canyon was a hundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it had abundant sage and a scant growth of oak and pinon.  For five miles it held to a comparatively straight bearing, and then began a heightening of rugged walls and a deepening of the floor.  Beyond this point of sudden change in the character of the canyon Venters had never explored, and here was the real door to the intricacies of Deception Pass.

He reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, and then proceeded cautiously with shifting and alert gaze.  The canyon assumed proportions that dwarfed those of its first ten miles.  Venters rode on and on, not losing in the interest of his wide surroundings any of his caution or keen search for tracks or sight of living thing.  If there ever had been a trail here, he could not find it.  He rode through sage and clumps of pinon trees and grassy plots where long-petaled purple lilies bloomed.  He rode through a dark constriction of the pass no wider than the lane in the grove at Cottonwoods.  And he came out into a great amphitheater into which jutted huge towering corners of a confluences of intersecting canyons.

Venters sat his horse, and, with a rider’s eye, studied this wild cross-cut of huge stone gullies.  Then he went on, guided by the course of running water.  If it had not been for the main stream of water flowing north he would never have been able to tell which of those many openings was a continuation of the pass.  In crossing this amphitheater he went by the mouths of five canyons, fording little streams that flowed into the larger one.  Gaining the outlet which he took to be the pass, he rode on again under over hanging walls.  One side was dark in shade, the other light in sun.  This narrow passageway turned and twisted and opened into a valley that amazed Venters.

Here again was a sweep of purple sage, richer than upon the higher levels.  The valley was miles long, several wide, and inclosed by unscalable walls.  But it was the background of this valley that so forcibly struck him.  Across the sage-flat rose a strange up-flinging of yellow rocks.  He could not tell which were close and which were distant.  Scrawled mounds of stone, like mountain waves, seemed to roll up to steep bare slopes and towers.