We rode on steadily, following along the top of the ridge. The whole vast, shadowy country blackened and desolate, lighted by the occasional fires, seemed to me quite unrecognizable.
"I don't believe we can tell the canyon when we arrive at it," I suggested, "they all look alike to me."
"I guess I will know it when we come to it," Jim answered.
"You are a better mountaineer than I am if you can," I said.
"I am," replied Jim coolly.
I reckon there was no doubt of it, for Jim had developed a remarkable sense for locality, and had a natural instinct for direction, while I was easily lost, but I could tell the east when the sun rose and the west where it set. Beyond that I was not much of an authority.
"Here we are," exclaimed Jim.
We had arrived at the head of a narrow canyon that looked to me much like the one we had just gone by.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"Never mind," replied Jim, "you will see that I am right."