Chapter 9: Showdown At Mexican Hat

Trailing horses through Monument Valley

We crossed the bridge spanning the gorge. Traffic slowed, with the exception of one selfish idiot: a huge pick-up towing a speedboat raced past at fifty-five miles per hour, little more than two feet away from the horses. In reaction Sunday swerved towards the bridge parapet and I very nearly went over the edge. The fall of around two hundred feet would definitely have made my eyes water.

I cursed and shook my fist, in the hope that the driver would stop. He didn't. Which was a pity; I was all set to play out a favourite scene from Serge Leone's For A Few Dollars More, where Clint Eastwood invites the miscreant at gun point to say 'sorry' to his horse.

We rode out on the edge of the Moenkopi Plateau. A series of broken buttes loomed, and beyond them the horizon fell away behind a yellowish carpet. After three hours crossing a hard-baked desert floor in appalling heat, we reached the base of a towering grey wall. I led through clumps of brush up a steep, rough trail.

At the summit we turned to gaze back towards Cameron. It had disappeared into the haze, some twelve miles distant. Here was an awesome overlook - the stuff Western movies were made of. Then the horses perked up and quickly broke into a trot. Over a faint ridge a windmill was pumping water into a brimming trough. Spared again.

Back to Extracts