It was now a dry defile, the lads noticed, although they fancied that once in a great while, during some cloudburst, there might be a deluge of water come roaring and tossing down the canyon, carrying everything before it.
They found it hard work picking their way upward; but Jerry knew pretty well how to avoid the worst of the difficulties.
"This means we're going to pitch camp in this channel of an old-time torrent," remarked Frank, as the long afternoon wore away and their hard-worked ponies gave signs of being very tired.
"It'll be a new experience," observed Lanky, looking around at the lofty walls that rose on either side. "Gee whiz! but I'd hate to be caught in this hole if a storm broke and the rain came down as it does sometimes out here in the Rockies. We'd soon be swimming I reckon."
Paul Bird looked uneasy, but made no remark, for he rather suspected that Lanky was saying what he did in anticipation of "getting a rise" from him. As long as Paul had known Lanky, he had never learned to tell with certainty when the tall fellow was joking and when he was serious.
As evening approached Jerry called a halt. He must have had reasons for choosing that particular spot to pitch camp, Frank decided, after noticing how the veteran puncher and prospector looked around him from time to time, as if renewing old-time recollections of the place.
A fire was made, there being an abundance of dead wood at hand, coming from the stunted trees that grew out of clefts in the surrounding walls.
"What makes it seem so hot here?" asked Paul, wiping his reeking forehead with the same red neckerchief that had excited the buffalo bull.