||BAKER When my father went over to look at French Seep to see what he would have to do to develop it, he could see terrible wild horse tracks around there and he wondered what had happened, so he read the tracks and worked out the story. French Seep lies on the south side of a gully and the north side is high, rather steep, white, slickrock. He could see where a horse had come to water on the trail from the Gordons, and a lion had dropped off from one of the trees onto its back but probably too far back to bite the horse in the spinal column as lions generally do. The horse had run down to the little oak trees that were there at that time over at the springs, had run across the wash and up on the white slickrock and then had fallen as it had gotten up on the steep rock, and slid down over the slickrock leaving hair and hide on the rock until it fell into the dry branches of a dead pinon tree that lay at the base of the rock. These branches had scraped the lion off. The horse's tracks were wildly dug in going back up over the ridge and the lion's tracks padded off up the draw. My father was close enough to this scene that the oak leaves that they had carried up on the rock were not yet starting to wilt. He thought he couldn't have been more than half an hour behind seeing one of the most colorful events of nature. All of his life, my father was one step ahead of a thirsty cow. When he took his cattle into Robber's Roost, it had not already been taken because there wasn't enough water. Only the Roost spring was used and a little of French Seep and there just wasn't enough water. Not only that, the canyons were full of rain water tanks that had been gouged out until they were more of a cistern than a tank and as the water level receded, the cattle, in trying to drink, would fall in and be drowned. So his first summers at the Roost were used in filling and shooting these tanks. He had one advantage over most of the cattlemen of his time: he had mined and he understood about dynamite, so he shot a lot of tanks. He shot a lot of trails, too. The trail into Trail Springs, which is one of the main springs in Twin Corrals today, was one that he blasted out. I was a pretty good-sized girl when he did it. My early childhood memories are of filling and fixing these tanks so they would not be such traps for the cattle. In 1925 and 1926, he had the range so well-stocked that he was very much afraid that a drought could hit him, or one of the springs could fail for some reason and the loss would be terrible. There were several years along then that the Roost spring was never allowed to be unvisited for more than a week at a time because if the Roost failed, even if a cow got over the fence and trampled out the head box of the spring and the V-trough that went into the troughs, it would mean thousands and thousands of dollars loss to him.