Out of the Depths A Romance of Reclamation

The hunter was riding leisurely up the steep mountain side above Dry Mesa.

On such an ascent most city men would have preferred to climb afoot.

But there was a month's layer of tan on the hunter's handsome, supercilious face.

He balanced himself lightly on his flat English saddle, and permitted the wiry little cow pony to pick the best path over the ledges and up the stiff slopes between the scattered pines.