Stones blocked every opening.

Making the bottom of the ravine after what seemed an interminable time, I found the tracks of Jones and Wallace.

A long "Waa-hoo!" drew me on; then the mellow bay of a hound floated up the ravine.

Satan made up time in the sandy stream bed, but kept me busily dodging overhanging branches.

I became aware, after a succession of efforts to keep from being strung on pinyons, that the sand before me was clean and trackless.