region similar to the one near the mouth of the Colorado, complete with cholla, lizards and spiny ocatillo. The more I thought about my empty canteen, the thirstier I became. The trail left the creek for a time, but now it dropped rapidly and crossed it just beyond a giant boulder. Directly below the crossing the flat rock surface spread out and there, to my unbelieving eyes, appeared a clear pool of water, set like the Shah's prize emerald, in a red sandstone setting. It was clear and deep and about thirty feet across. I scarcely knew what I was doing before the knapsack was wedged between a couple of rocks, boots and levis were spread in the sun, and I was letting my body slide, a few inches at a time so as to enjoy every bit of the cool wetness, into the green depths. For perhaps ten minutes I dived and surfaced, swam back and forth, and finally floated luxuriously, laughing at the cruel heat of the sun. By chance, my eye caught a slight movement on the cliffs above me. I narrowed my gaze and saw a rider on horseback. He had been motionless up there, several hundred feet higher, for I didn't know how long. A trifle embarrassed, I turned over and surface dived. When I looked again, I figured that he knew I had seen him, for he was halfway down the slope. His levis were bleached by the Arizona sun, his rather soiled NPS shirt was open to the belt, and his widebrim regulation hat rode far back on his head. I could see at a glance that the dark, rather heavily sculptured face was hostile.

I was still standing in water up to my waist as the rider reined up sharply not ten feet away. "Get the hell out of the water," he shouted angrily. "Don't you know that's the water supply for the people downstream?" He kept his seat while I hastily climbed out on the bank, dried myself a bit with my shirt and jumped into my levis.

"I'm sorry." I began, covertly admiring the picture he made there, angry and proud, even though the anger was directed at me. "I didn't think it would hurt anything, and I sure was hot." I smiled feebly, but his look killed it. I have my reasons for not wanting to get into trouble with any police, even NPS rangers, so I didn't argue, but flicked a comb through my damp hair, stepped into my boots, and picked up my knapsack. The big chestnut snorted and bit into a clump of

grass.

I turned around and saw that the ranger had jumped to the ground and stood there, watching every move I made with an intent gaze. "Hike down all the way from the top?" he suddenly asked, in a conversational tone.

"Yup, and I had to wade through your water supply just the same way your horse does." I was smarting from his first command though, as a matter of honest truth, it had been time for me to be on my way anyhow. This comment didn't seem to make any impression-he still leaned against his horse in a long, lithe line, his hand resting on the pommel of his saddle. I tried again: "You know, I didn't have any water left in my canteen when I knocked at your door. Now I guess I'll have to drink my own bathwater-hope I survive." The weak humor brought a small smile to his handsome features-and then he was all officious park ranger again.

"Just see to it you keep the water as clean as you can, and no swimming," he said.

OK, OK, I thought to myself, have it your way. I turned without a word and headed down the trail, all sorts of smart remarks crowding into my head over the injustice of it all. Twice, I looked back, and each time he was there, once more astride his mount, looking down at me. I hiked on, troubled by that nameless feeling which always comes over me when I feel I have missed an opportunity to

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