"Certainly," replied Dick.
"Bueno," said Pedro, briefly.
There was a little pine tree growing just on the brink of the chasm, and without another word the Mexican drew his ax from his belt, stepped up to the tree and cut it off about four feet from the ground, allowing the top to fall from the precipice into the stream below.
"What's that for, Pedro?" I asked, in surprise.
Pedro grinned. "I show you pretty quick," said he. "Come, now. We go back to the other side."
Though we could not fathom his plan, having voluntarily made him captain for the time being we could not do less than obey orders; so away we went at a brisk walk back to the crack in the wall, down the steps in the rock, along the bank of the creek to camp—where we picked up our own ax—then up the ledge to the point opposite the one we had just left—a two-mile walk to accomplish thirty feet.
Here, the first thing Pedro did was to take his lariat, a beautifully-made rawhide rope strong enough to hold a thousand-pound steer, tie a stone to one end and throw the stone across the cañon. I could not think what he was doing it for, until I saw that he was measuring the width. We made it about twenty-seven feet, its remarkable narrowness being accounted for by the great overhang of the cliff on our side.
