Romer stayed on his horse all through that
ride, and when we selected a camp site for the night he said to me:
"Well, you're lucky you wouldn't bet."
Camp that evening was in a valley with stately pines straggling down
to the level. On the other slope the pines came down in groups. The
rim of this opposite slope was high, rugged, iron-colored, with cracks
and holes. Before supper I walked up the slope back of our camp, to
come upon level, rocky ground for a mile, then pines again leading to
a low, green mountain with lighter patches of aspen. The level, open
strip was gray in color. Arizona color and Arizona country! Gray of
sage, rocks, pines, cedars, pinons, heights and depths and plains,
wild and open and lonely--that was Arizona.
That night I obtained some rest and sleep, lying awake only a few
hours, during which time I turned from side to side to find a soft
place in the hard bed. Under such circumstances I always thought
of the hard beds of the Greeks and the Spartans. Next day we rode
twenty-three miles. On horseback trips like this it was every one for
himself. Sometimes we would be spread out, all separated; at others we
would be bunched; and again we would ride in couples. The morning was
an ordeal for me, as at first I could scarcely sit my saddle; in
the afternoon, however, riding grew to be less severe. The road led
through a winding, shallow valley, with clumps of pine here and there,
and cedars on the slopes.
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