The sun
stood crossed by thin clouds--a golden blaze in a golden sky--sinking to
meet a ragged horizon line of purple.
[Illustration: ANOTHER BEAR]
Here again was I confronted with the majesty and beauty of the earth,
and with another and more striking effect of this vast tilted rim of
mesa. I could see many miles to west and east. This rim was a huge wall
of splintered rock, a colossal cliff, towering so high above the black
basin below that ravines and canyons resembled ripples or dimples,
darker lines of shade. And on the other side from its very edge, where
the pine fringe began, it sloped gradually to the north, with heads of
canyons opening almost at the crest. I saw one ravine begin its start
not fifty feet from the rim.
Barber Shop Canyon had five heads, all running down like the fingers of
a hand, to form the main canyon, which was deep, narrow, forested by
giant pines. A round, level dell, watered by a murmuring brook, deep
down among the many slopes, was our camp ground, and never had I seen
one more desirable. The wind soughed in the lofty pine tops, but not a
breeze reached down to this sheltered nook. With sunset gold on the high
slopes our camp was shrouded in twilight shadows. R.C. and I stretched a
canvas fly over a rope from tree to tree, staked down the ends, and left
the sides open. Under this we unrolled our beds.
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