Not too long after passing the old ranch house, today's route also took us past an old cabin.

We're higher now, out of the dunes and on the benches at the base of the mountains. This structure is older, probably from the late 1800s. Three walls remain, made of layered logs from the nearby mountains. Most are 12-15" thick.

The east wall and ceiling are missing. They were relatively intact when I first came here, but were made out of planed wood planks. Colored beautiful oranges, reds, yellows and grays by the harsh elements. Sometime in the recent past, someone came up and "harvested" that lovely barn wood.

Probably for western picture frames.

Over the past twenty years I have watched several historic old cabins collapse into unrecognizable piles of wood. Occassionally with human help.

I suspect I will not see this as a cabin much longer.

As our route reached the base of the mountains and turned south towards the desert again, I noticed fresh vehicle tracks in the dust on the road up into the cliffs and trees.

So we followed.

This is a narrow track, carved into the hillside. The trees so close their branches knock the mirrors in along the doors.

The maskless heeler has a great time attacking the trees, ripping off branches and spitting her trophies onto the floor.

The road deadends at a small campsite at the base of the limestone cliffs, where the spring comes out. Barely room to turn a truck around, much less set up a tent.

Unfortunately, it is occupied. Two men from Central City, up on a camping trip. Not hunters on a scouting trip, just out to "get away from people." In the middle of cooking breakfast.

The more scuzzy of the two keeps trying to read my nametag, and then finally relaxes a little. Apparently pleased to not see "Game Warden" on the job title.

We had a poaching incident up here last year, in this same, remote canyon. So I'm a little suspicious.

We discuss where they are. Turns out, they don't know. Check their maps, and they're a mile or two from where they thought they were.

Tailgate is down, so I can't read the license plate.

Finally, as I make to go, I bend down to pet their hot black lab, which gives me the angle on the plate that I need.

Takes a great deal of jockeying to get the truck turned around. They had to remove their beds for me to do it, and the one man's eyes went wide once when one front tire dipped over the edge.

Not a lethal drop, but it would have been a heck of a ride.

Don't know if they were up to no good, so far from civilization, but it is good that they had someone drop in. On a Sunday, no less. If they were up to something they shouldn't, a little paranoia is a healthy thing.

Classifications were really poor today. Haven't tallied the numbers yet, but I suspect I've never had so few antelope on this route.

A few miles west of the campers I spotted a herd of 14 antelope on a hogback at the base of the mountains. Could tell that we had a dozen does and one buck, but I wasn't sure of the last antelope. Caught only a peek of its butt as they headed over the ridge. Probably a doe, but maybe a fawn.

Normally, I would just drop that group from the sample, but today it looks like I will need every antelope I can get. So we get out to hike up above the herd to get a better look.

It's hot, uphill, and a little over 2/3rds of a mile. The heeler sisters are panting after just 100 meters.

When I stop to use the binocs, the little maskless heeler trots over to the lone pine about 20 meters away and uses the shade. You can see the disappointment on her face when I start heading up again.

As we reach the hogback ridge, the heelers trot ahead to the shade of the first trees and wait for me to catch up.

There's a nice breeze off the dunes, but apparently you can't feel it that close to the ground.

Successfully surprised the antelope on the other side. Thirteen does and one buck.

The guard doe near the crest of the hill gave the heelers quite a stare. Don't know if it was the combination of the canids with a biped, or if it was the jingle from the heelers' collars.

"Hey girls! Somebody put bells on the coyotes! What a wonderful idea!"

Hike over. Back to the truck.

Maskless heeler keeps bumping into my leg because she's trying to stay in my shadow. Then her bigger sister catches on and takes that spot.

As soon as they're loaded in the truck the sisters stare at the water jug. Drained one whole bowl.

And, yes, the heelers drink before I do.