SON OF THE WIND
haunting expression was confounded in the bright light. He frowned, staring aloft for a hint of it.
The half-breed's voice sang out, shrill and sudden. Carron pulled rein before he looked. These warnings came sometimes on the very verge. He was far enough from the edge on this occasion, but edge there was nevertheless, here where it had been. least expected. The end of the watershed was cut down, sliced off. Years past some mass of water might have run flood full here, and worn it away. But now, at the bottom, wound only a belt of dark sand, with a narrow stream flowing in the heart of it. It had made no murmur to warn them, being summer water. This river bottom was all that lay between them and the cañon wall; but the descent into it was most uninviting, neither a precipice, over which a man might be lowered, nor a possible hillside offering a trail, but a face of rock slanted at forty-five degrees, where a man must use his feet, yet could not keep his footing without a rope. Getting out of the saddle, Carron walked forward and looked up and down the course of the stream.
The power that had cut the watershed had sliced the hills with the same knife. Cliff it was as far as the eye could see. The face presented was irregular, however, now low, now high, as the land ran. The place where he stood must have a height of fifteen
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