Had I suspected that our old brown mare intended to die in the ghost town of Giles, I would not have gone on that long journey which led me into Blue Valley back in the spring of 1935. And had I not gone, I would not have experienced the mystic sadness of that long-deserted place -- an aura that has kept me coming back again and again to visit Blue Valley.

Blue Valley lies east of what is now known as Capitol Reef National Park. As a boy I lived in Torrey, on the west edge of the park.

When I was 14, my father, a school teacher, purchased a farm to supplement his meager Depression-days income. And I was to tend a flock of sheep on the high benchlands above the farm.

Well, as a shepherd I needed a pony. When my father announced he had been offered a 3-year-old bay mustang in trade for our old brown work mare, I was as delighted as any boy could be.