Publisher's Synopsis
At the end of a dry, uphill ride over barren country Jean Isbel unpacked to camp at the edge ofthe cedars where a little rocky canyon green with willow and cottonwood, promised water and grass.His animals were tired, especially the pack mule that had carried a heavy load; and with slowheave of relief they knelt and rolled in the dust. Jean experienced something of relief himself as hethrew off his chaps. He had not been used to hot, dusty, glaring days on the barren lands. Stretchinghis long length beside a tiny rill of clear water that tinkled over the red stones, he drank thirstily. Thewater was cool, but it had an acrid taste-an alkali bite that he did not like. Not since he had leftOregon had he tasted clear, sweet, cold water; and he missed it just as he longed for the stately shadyforests he had loved. This wild, endless Arizona land bade fair to earn his hatred.By the time he had leisurely completed his tasks twilight had fallen and coyotes had begun theirbarking. Jean listened to the yelps and to the moan of the cool wind in the cedars with a sense ofsatisfaction that these lonely sounds were familiar. This cedar wood burned into a pretty fire and thesmell of its smoke was newly pleasant."Reckon maybe I'll learn to like Arizona," he mused, half aloud. "But I've a hankerin' forwaterfalls an' dark-green forests. Must be the Indian in me.... Anyway, dad needs me bad, an' Ireckon I'm here for keeps."
