The next morning after reaching Harrell's camp we were told that, as Frank did not seem able to stand the voyage he was to leave us here, to go over the mountains back to the railway, whence he would go home. We were all sorry to hear this and doubly sorry when on Sunday the 11th he mounted a mule and regretfully rode away with Mr. Harrell. The latter was to telegraph to Salt Lake to Mrs. Powell, to send our mail back to Green River Station so that it could be brought out to us on Mr. Harrell's return. Meanwhile we dropped down the river, now tranquil as a pond, with low banks covered with cottonwood groves. There were two small canyons the first of which we called "Little" about one-half mile long, and the second "Swallow," about two miles long. The cliffs were red sandstone about three hundred feet high, often vertical on both sides. Thousands of swallows swarmed there, and we did not resist giving it an obvious name. Below this the water spread out more and was full of islands. The current was sluggish, two miles an hour perhaps, and we indulged in the novelty of rowing the boats, though we did not try to make speed, for we had to wait for Mr. Harrell's return anyhow. The boats had been lightened by trading to Harrell some of our flour, of which we had an over abundance when it came to portages, for fresh beef, of which we were very much in need. At a convenient place we landed where there was a fine cottonwood grove and remained while Prof. made a climb and to jerk the beef. It was cut into thin strips and hung on a willow framework in the sun with a slow fire beneath. As the thermometer now stood at ninety-nine in the shade the beef was fairly well cured by the 13th and we went on, seeing one of the cattlemen and a Mexican boy on the left bank. In this neighbourhood we passed from Utah into Colorado. The river was six hundred feet broad and about six feet deep. We had no trouble from shoals, and finally lashed the three boats side by side and let them drift along in the slow current. The Major sitting in his arm-chair on the middle boat read aloud selections from The Lady of the Lake which seemed to fit the scene well. Steward and Andy amused themselves by swimming along with the boats and occasionally diving under them.

From our noon camp in a grove of cottonwoods opposite the mouth of Vermilion River, we could plainly see the great portal a mile or two away, the Gate of Lodore, where all this tranquillity would end, for the river cuts straight into the heart of the mountains forming one of the finest canyons of the series where the water comes down as Southey described it at Lodore, and the Major gave it that name. Before night we were at the very entrance and made our camp there in a grove of box-elders. Every man was looking forward to this canyon with some dread and before losing ourselves within its depths we expected to enjoy the letters from home which Mr. Harrell was to bring back from the railway for us. Myriads of mosquitoes gave us something else to think of, for they were exceedingly ferocious and persistent, driving us to a high bluff where a smudge was built to fight them off. We were nearly devoured. I fared best, a friend having given me a net for my head, and this, with buckskin gloves on my hands enabled me to exist with some comfort. The mountains rose abruptly just beyond our camp, and the river cleaved the solid mass at one stroke, forming the extraordinary and magnificent portal we named the "Gate of Lodore," one of the most striking entrances of a river into mountains to be found in all the world. It is visible for miles. Prof. climbed the left side of the Gate and also took observations for time.

I was sent back to the valley to make some sketches and also to accompany Steward on a geological tramp. We had an uncomfortable experience because of the excessive heat and aridity. I learned several things about mountaineering that I never forgot, one of which was to always thoroughly note and mark a place where anything is left to be picked up on a return, for, leaving our haversack under a cedar it eluded all search till the next day, and meanwhile we were compelled to go to the river two or three miles away for water. We had a rubber poncho and a blanket. Using the rubber for a mattress and the blanket for a covering we passed the night, starting early for the mountains, where at last we found our food bag. After eating a biscuit we went back to the river and made tea and toasted some beef on the end of a ramrod, when we struck for the main camp, arriving at dinner-time.

The Gate of Lodore seemed naturally the beginning of a new stage in our voyage to which we turned with some anxiety, for it was in the gorge now before us that on the first trip a boat had been irretrievably smashed. We were now 130 miles by river from the Union Pacific Railway crossing, and in this distance we had descended 700 feet in altitude, more than 400 feet of it in Red Canyon. Lodore was said to have an even greater declivity.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Three points on Green River below the Union Pacific crossing had been determined by previous explorers, the mouth of Henry's Fork, the mouth of the Uinta, and Gunnison Crossing.]

[Footnote 6: I do not know the number of men composing this party.]



CHAPTER IV

Locked in the Chasm of Lodore—Rapids with Railway Speed—A Treacherous Approach to Falls of Disaster—Numerous Loadings and Unloadings—Over the Rocks with Cargoes—Library Increased by Putnam's Magazine—Triplet Falls and Hell's Half Mile—Fire in Camp—Exit from Turmoil to Peace.

On Saturday the 17th of June, the member of the Harrell party who was to travel overland from Green River Station with mail for us from Salt Lake arrived with only two letters. The despatch had been too late to stop the packet which already had been started for the Uinta Indian Agency, whence it would reach us at the mouth of the Uinta River. It would be another month, at least, before we could receive those longed for words from home. There was nothing now to delay us further, and after dinner the boats were prepared for canyon work again. Through Brown's Park we had not been obliged to pay much attention to "ship-shape" arrangements, but now the story was to be different. The cabins were packed with unusual care, the life-preservers were inflated and put where they could be quickly seized on the approach to a bad descent, and at four o'clock we were afloat. The wide horizon vanished. The cliffs, red and majestic, rose at one bound to a height of about 2000 feet on each side, the most abrupt and magnificent gateway to a canyon imaginable. We entered slowly, for the current in the beginning is not swift, and we watched the mighty precipices while they appeared to fold themselves together behind and shut us more than ever away from the surrounding wilderness. For a short time the stream was quite tame. Then the murmur of distant troubled waters reached us and we prepared for work. The first rapid was not a bad one; we ran it without halting and ran three more in quick succession, one of which was rather ugly.



This success caused some of us prematurely to conclude that perhaps "the way the water comes down at Lodore," was not so terrific as had been anticipated. The Major said nothing. He kept his eyes directed ahead. The river ran about 300 feet wide, with a current of 10 to 15 miles an hour in the rapids. At every bend new vistas of beauty were exhibited, and the cliffs impressed us more and more by their increasing height and sublimity. Landing places were numerous. Presently there came to our ears a roar with an undertone which spoke a language now familiar, and we kept as close to the right bank as possible, so that a stop could be instantly made at the proper moment. When this moment arrived a landing was effected for examination, and it revealed a furious descent, studded with large rocks, with a possibility of safely running through it if an exact course could be held, but the hour being now late a camp was made at the head and further investigation deferred till the next morning.

This morning was Sunday, and the sun shone into the canyon with dazzling brilliancy, all being tranquil except the foaming rapid. The locality was so fascinating that we lingered to explore, finding especial interest in a delightful grotto carved out of the red sandstone by the waters of a small brook. The entrance was narrow, barely 20 feet, a mere cleft in the beginning, but as one proceeded up it between walls 1500 feet high, the cleft widened, till at 15 rods it ended in an amphitheatre 100 feet in diameter, with a domed top. Clear, cold water trickled and dropped in thousands of diamond-like globules from everything. Mosses and ferns filled all the crevices adding a brilliant green to the picture, while far up overhead a little ribbon of blue sky could be seen; and, beyond the mouth, the yellow river. It was an exquisite scene. At the request of Steward, it's discoverer, it was named after his little daughter, "Winnie's Grotto." So charming was it here that we did not get off till ten o'clock, Beaman meanwhile taking several views.

It was decided to run the rapid, for there was a comparatively straight channel about ten feet wide, and it was only a question of steering right. As our boat was to take it first the other crews came to a point where they could watch us to advantage and profit by our experience. Sticks, as usual, had been thrown in to determine the trend of the main current which must always be considered in dealing with any rapid. If it dashes against a cliff below, means must be found to cut across before reaching that point. On the other hand, if the main current has a comparatively clear chute, running through is not a difficult matter as in the present case. We pulled up-stream a short distance before putting out into the middle. Then we took the rapid as squarely as possible. We saw that we would have to go sharply to the left to avoid one line of rocks, and then to the right to clear another, both of which actions were successfully accomplished. Then we waited below for the others. They had no trouble either, and the three boats sped on and on into the greater depths beyond where wilder waters were foaming.

All rapids have "tails" of waves tapering out below, that is the waves grow smaller as they increase the distance from the initial wave. These waves are the reverse of sea waves, the form remaining in practically one place while the water flies through. In many rapids there is an eddy on each side of this tail in which a current runs up-river with great force. If a boat is caught in this eddy it may be carried a second time through a part of the rapid. We soon arrived at another rapid in which this very thing happened to our boat. We were caught by the eddy and carried up-stream to be launched directly into the path of the Nell, which had started down. Prof. skilfully threw his boat to one side and succeeded in avoiding a collision. Nothing could be done with our boat but to let her go where she would for the moment. We then ran two other rapids, rough ones too, but there was no trouble in them for any of the boats. The velocity at this stage of water was astonishing, and the opportunities to land in quiet water between the rapids now were few.



About dinner-time as we emerged at high speed from one rapid we saw immediately below lying in ominous shadow, another. It had a forbidding look. In Red Canyon owing to the east-and-west trend the sun fell to the bottom for many more hours than in Lodore which has a north-and-south trend. Hence here even at high noon, one side or the other might be in deep shadow. In this particular case it was the left wall which came down very straight to the river, the outside of a bend. Opposite was a rocky, wooded point. Between these the rapid swept down. There was no slack water separating the end of the rapid we left from the beginning of this one so obscurely situated. Landing was no easy task at the speed with which we were flying, but it would not do to try to run the rapid without an examination. The only possible place to stop was on the right where there was a cove with a little strip of beach, and we headed for it instantly, pulling with every muscle. Yet we continued going on down at railway speed. When at last we arrived within a few feet of the bank the problem was how to stop. The water appeared shallow, though we could not see bottom on account of its murky character, and there was only one course, which was to jump out and make anchors of our legs. As we did so we sank to our waists and were pulled along for a moment but our feet, braced against the large rocks on the bottom, served the purpose and the momentum was overcome. Once the velocity was gone it was easy to get the boat to the beach, and she was tied there just in time to allow us to rush to the help of the Nell.[7] Scarcely had the Nell been tied up than the Canonita came darting for the same spot like a locomotive. With the force on hand she was easily controlled, and the fact that she carried the cook outfit as well as the cook added to our joy at having her so speedily on the beach. Andy went to work immediately to build a fire and prepare dinner while the rest overhauled the boats, took observations, plotted notes, or did other necessary things, and the Major and Prof. went down to take a close look at the rapid which had caused us such sudden and violent exertion. They reported a clear channel in the middle, and when we continued after dinner, we went through easily and safely, as of course we could have done in the first place if the Major had been willing to take an unknown risk. But in the shadow the fall might have been almost anything and it would have been foolhardy to run it without examination, even though we found it so hard to stop. Below the rapid that had halted us so abruptly there was nothing for about a mile but easy running, when we stopped in a cove to examine another rapid. Prof. here started up eleven mountain sheep, but by the time he had come back to the boats for a gun they were beyond reach. Though this rapid could be easily run, there was just below it only a short distance the fall where the No-Name was wrecked on the first trip, and we would have to be cautious, for the approach to that fall we knew was treacherous.

The river comes at this point from the east, bends south, then west, and it is just at the western bend that the steep rush of the big fall begins and continues for three-quarters of a mile. On the right the waters beat fiercely against the foot of the perpendicular wall, while on the left they are confined by a rocky point, the end of which is composed of enormous blocks. The space for the stream between this point and the opposite cliff is narrow, while the river above it spreads rather wide with a deep bay on the left where there is quiet water. This bay is protected a quarter of a mile up by a jutting point, and is merely back water. Just off the point the whole river suddenly becomes saucer-like, and quite smooth, with all the currents drawing strongly in from every direction and pouring toward and over the falls. An object once within the grip of this "sag," as we called it, is obliged to pass over the falls. The situation is peculiar and it occurs nowhere else on the whole river. Not being understood on the first voyage one of the boats, the No-Name, was trapped, driven over the falls, and broken to fragments, though the men were rescued below. The disaster was the cause of some unpleasantness on that voyage, the men blaming the Major for not signalling properly and he blaming them for not landing quickly when he signalled.

We were on the lookout for it and the Major having the wreck to emphasise the peculiarities of the "sag" desired to have every boat turn the point at the correct moment. Ours ran through the preliminary rapid easily and we dropped cautiously down upon our great enemy, hugging the left bank as closely as we could to reach the jutting point around which the boat must pass to arrive in the safe waters of the bay. We turned the point with no difficulty, and proceeded a distance across the bay where we landed on a beach to watch for the other boats, the steersmen having been informed as to the precariousness of the locality. Nevertheless it was so deceptive that when the Nell came in sight she was not close enough to the left shore for safety. The Major signalled vigorously with his hat, and Prof. took the warning instantly and turned in, but when the Canonita appeared we saw at once that she was altogether too far out and for some seconds we stood almost petrified while the Major again signalled with all his might. It seemed an even chance; then she gained on the current and finally reached good water whence she came to our position. Beaman had been a pilot on the Great Lakes and was expert with a steering-oar, and probably for that reason he was somewhat careless. There was hardly an excuse in this instance for a boat not to take the proper course for the experience of the No-Name told the whole story, yet the place is so peculiar and unusual that one even forewarned may fail. Across the bay pulling was safe and we ran to a beach very close to the head of the falls where we made our camp, the sun now being low and the huge cliffs casting a profound and sombre shadow into the bottom. It was a wild, a fierce, an impressive situation. The unending heavy roar of the tumbling river, the difficulty if not impossibility of turning back even if such a thing had been desired, the equal difficulty if not impossibility of scaling the walls that stood more than 2000 feet above us, and the general sublimity of the entire surroundings, rendered our position to my mind intensely dramatic. Two years before, on this identical spot the Major had camped with the loss of one of his boats bearing heavily on his mind, though his magnificent will, his cheerful self-reliance, and his unconquerable determination to dominate any situation gave him power and allied him to the river itself. The place practically chose its own name, Disaster Falls, and it was so recorded by the topographers.

A hard portage was ahead of us and all turned in early to prepare by a good sleep for the long work of the next day. No tent as a rule was erected unless there was rain, and then a large canvas from each boat was put up on oars or other sticks, the ends being left open. In a driving storm a blanket would answer to fill in. As there was now no indication of a storm our beds were placed on the sand as usual with the sides of the canyon for chamber walls and the multitudinous stars for roof.

A short distance below the great rapid near which we were camped was a second equally bad, the two together making up the three-quarter mile descent of Disaster Falls. Between them the river became level for a brief space and wider, and a deposit of boulders and gravel appeared there in the middle above the surface at the present stage of water. It was this island which had saved the occupants of the No-Name, and from which they were rescued.

We were up very early in the morning, and began to carry the cargoes by a trail we made over and around the huge boulders to a place below the bad water of the first fall. The temperature was in the 90's and it was hot work climbing with a fifty-pound sack on one's back, but at last after many trips back and forth every article was below. Then the empty boats were taken one at a time, and by pulling, lifting, and sliding on skids of driftwood, and by floating wherever practicable in the quieter edges of the water, we got them successfully past the first fall. Here the loads were replaced, and with our good long and strong lines an inch thick, the boats were sent down several hundred yards in the rather level water referred to intervening between the foot of the upper fall and the head of the lower, to the beginning of the second descent. This all occupied much time, for nothing could be done rapidly, and noon came, in the midst of our work. Anticipating this event Andy had gone ahead with his cook outfit and had baked the dinner bread in his Dutch oven. With the usual fried bacon and coffee the inner man was speedily fortified for another wrestle with the difficult and laborious situation. The dinner bread was baked from flour taken out of a hundred-pound sack that was found lying on top of an immense boulder far above the river. This was flour that had been rescued by the former party from the wreckage of the No-Name, but as they could not add it to their remaining heavily laden boats, the Major had been compelled to leave it lying here. They needed it badly enough towards the end. It was still sweet and good, but we could not take it either. We were so much better provisioned than the former party that it was, besides, not necessary for us, and we also left it where it was. Our supplies were not likely to fail us at the mouth of the Uinta, and beyond that there was not yet need to worry. Although there were only two points below Gunnison Crossing in a distance of nearly 600 miles where it was known that the river could be reached, the Crossing of the Fathers and the mouth of the Paria not far below it, we felt sure that those who had been charged with the bringing of supplies to the mouth of the "Dirty Devil" would be able to get there, and as we were to stop for the season at the Paria, we would have time to plan for beyond. In any case our boats were carrying now all they could, and without a regret we turned our backs on the outcast flour. It was an ordinary sack of bolted wheat flour, first in a cotton bag then in a gunny bag and had been lying unbroken for two years. The outside for half an inch was hard, but inside of that the flour was in excellent condition. Two oars were also found. They were doubtless from the No-Name.



After dinner we once more unloaded the boats and carried everything on our backs up and across a long rocky hill, or point, down to a spot, about a third of a mile altogether, where the goods were piled on a smooth little beach at the margin of a quiet bay. It took many trips, and it was exhausting work, but in addition to bringing the cargoes down, we also by half past five got one of the boats there, by working it over the rocks and along the edge. Here we camped and had supper as soon as Andy could get it ready. It may be asked by some not familiar with scientific work, how we always knew the time, but as we had the necessary instruments for taking time astronomically, there was nothing difficult about it. We also carried fine chronometers, and had a number of watches.

In the sand near the camp, which place at highest water might have formed an eddy behind some huge rocks, a few old knives, forks, a rusty bake oven, and other articles were found, the wreckage from some party prior to that of the Major's first. He said they had not left anything of that sort, and he had noticed the same things on the former trip.

The total fall of the river here is about fifty feet, and no boat could get through without smashing.

The morning of June 20th found us early at work bringing down the two boats we had left, and as soon as this was accomplished the cargoes were put on once more, and we lowered the three one at a time, along the left bank by means of our hundred-foot hawsers, with everything in them, about a quarter of a mile to another bad place which we called Lower Disaster Falls. Here we unloaded and made a short portage while Andy was getting dinner. When we had disposed of this and reloaded, we pulled into the river, which averaged about 350 feet wide, with a current in places of 15 miles or more, and quickly arrived at three bad rapids in succession, all of which we ran triumphantly, though the former party made portages around them. In the third our boat took in so much water that we made a landing in order to bail out. Continuing immediately we reached another heavy rapid, but ran it without even stopping to reconnoitre, as the way seemed perfectly clear. We took the next rapid with equal success, though our boat got caught in an eddy and was turned completely round, while the others ran past us. They landed to wait, and there we all took a little breathing spell before attempting to run another rapid just below which we made camp in a grove of cedars, at the beginning of a descent that looked so ugly it was decided to make a "let-down" on the following day. Everybody was wet to the skin and glad to get on some dry clothes, as soon as we could pull out our bags. The cliffs had now reached an altitude of at least 2500 feet, and they appeared to be nearly perpendicular, but generally not from the water's edge where there was usually a bank of some kind or the foot of a steep talus. There were box-elder and cottonwood trees here and there, and cedars up the cliffs wherever they could find a footing. On the heights tall pine trees could be seen. The cliff just opposite camp was almost vertical from the rapid at its foot to the brink 2500 feet above, and flame red.

After supper as we all sat in admiration and peering with some awe at the narrow belt of sky, narrower than we had before seen it, the stars slowly came out, and presently on the exact edge of the magnificent precipice, set there like a diadem, appeared the Constellation of the Harp. It was an impressive sight, and immediately the name was bestowed "The Cliff of the Harp."[8]

Prof. read Marmion aloud, and Jack gave us a song or two, before we went to sleep feeling well satisfied with our progress into the heart of Lodore.

This portion of the river has a very great declivity, the greatest as we afterwards determined on the entire Green and Colorado with the exception of a section of Cataract and a part of the First Granite Gorge of the Grand Canyon, where the declivity is much the same, with Cataract Canyon in the lead. A quarter-mile above our camp a fine little stream, Cascade Creek, came in on the right. Beaman made some photographs in the morning, and we began to work the boats down along the edge of the rapid beside which we had camped. This took us till noon, and we had dinner before venturing on. When we set forth we had good luck, and soon put four rapids behind, running the first, letting down past two and running the fourth which was a pretty bad one. Three-quarters of a mile of smooth water then gave us a respite much appreciated, when we arrived at a wild descent about as bad as Disaster Falls, though more safely approached. This was called Triplet Falls by the first party. We went into camp at the head of it on the left bank. This day we found a number of fragments of the No-Name here and there, besides an axe and a vise abandoned by the first party, and a welcome addition to our library in a copy of Putnam's Magazine. This was the first magazine ever to penetrate to these extreme wilds. The river was from 300 to 400 feet wide, and the walls ran along with little change, about 2500 feet high. Opposite camp was Dunn's Cliff, the end of the Sierra Escalante, about 2800 feet high, named for one of the first party who was killed by the Indians down in Arizona. We remained a day here to let the topographers climb out if they could. They had little trouble in doing this, and after a pleasant climb reached the top through a gulch at an altitude above the river of 3200 feet. The view was extensive and their efforts were rewarded by obtaining much topographical information. Late in the day the sky grew dark, the thunder rolled, and just before supper we had a good shower.



On the 23d progress was continued and every one felt well after the cessation for a day of the knocking about amidst the foam and boulders. It took us, with hard work, till two o'clock to get past Triplet Falls by means of a double portage. About half a mile below this we were confronted by one of the worst looking places we had yet seen, and at the suggestion of Steward it received the significant name of "Hell's Half Mile." The entire river for more than half a mile was one sheet of white foam. There was not a quiet spot in the whole distance, and the water plunged and pounded in its fierce descent and sent up a deafening roar. The only way one could be heard was to yell with full lung power. Landing at the head of it easily we there unloaded the Dean and let her down by line for some distance. In the worst place she capsized but was not damaged. Then the water, near the shore we were on, though turbulent in the extreme became so shallow on account of the great width of the rapid here that when we had again loaded the Dean there were places where we were forced to walk alongside and lift her over rocks, but several men at the same time always had a strong hold on the shore end of the line. In this way we got her down as far as was practicable by that method. At this point the river changed. The water became more concentrated and consequently deeper. It was necessary to unload the boat again and work her on down with a couple of men in her and the rest holding the line on shore as we had done above. When the roughest part was past in this manner, we made her fast and proceeded to carry her cargo down to this spot which took some time. It was there put on board again and the hatches firmly secured. The boat was held firmly behind a huge sheltering rock and when all was ready her crew took their places. With the Major clinging to the middle cabin, as his chair had been left above and would be carried down later, we shoved out into the swift current, here free from rocks, and literally bounded over the waves that formed the end of the descent, to clear water where we landed on a snug little beach and made the boat secure for the night. Picking our way along shore back to the head of the rapid, camp was made there as the darkness was falling and nothing more could be done that night.



It was next to impossible to converse, but every one being very tired it was not long after supper before we took to the blankets and not a man was kept awake by the noise. It seemed only a few moments before it was time to go at it again. All hands were up early and the other two boats were taken laboriously down in the same manner as the Dean had been engineered, but though we toiled steadily it was one o'clock by the time we succeeded in placing them alongside that boat. Anticipating this, Andy's utensils were taken down on the Nell, and while we were working with the Canonita, our good chef prepared the dinner and we stopped long enough to fortify ourselves with it. Having to build a trail in some places in order to carry the goods across ridges and boulders, it was not alone the work on lowering the boats which delayed us. While we were absorbed in these operations the camp-fire of the morning in some way spread unperceived into the thick sage-brush and cedars which covered the point, and we vacated the place none too soon, for the flames were leaping high, and by the time we had finished our dinner at the foot of the rapid, the point we had so recently left was a horrible furnace. The fire was jumping and playing amidst dense smoke which rolled a mighty column, a thousand feet it seemed to me above the top of the canyon; that is over 3000 feet into the tranquil air.

At two o'clock all three boats were again charging down on a stiff current with rather bad conditions, though we ran two sharp rapids without much trouble. In one the Nell got on a smooth rock and came near capsizing. The current at the spot happened to be not so swift and she escaped with no damage. Then we were brought up by another rapid, a very bad one. Evening was drawing on and every man was feeling somewhat used up by the severe exertions of the day. Camp was therefore ordered at the head of this rapid in the midst of scenery that has probably as great beauty, picturesqueness, and grandeur as any to be found in the whole West. I hardly know how to describe it. All day long the surroundings had been supremely beautiful, majestic, but at this camp everything was on a superlative scale and words seem colourless and futile. The precipices on both sides, about 2200 feet high, conveyed the impression of being almost vertical. Our camp was several hundred yards from the rapid and we could talk with some comfort. After supper I wandered alone down beside the furiously plunging waters and came upon a brood of young magpies airing themselves on the sand. The roar of the fall prevented their hearing and I walked among them, picked one up and took it to camp to show their comicality, when I let it go back to the rendezvous. I was censured especially by the Major, for cruelty to animals.

The next day was Sunday and it came with a radiance that further enhanced the remarkable grandeur around us. Near by was a side canyon of the most picturesque type, down which a clear little brook danced from ledge to ledge and from pool to pool, twenty to thirty feet at a time. We named it Leaping Brook. The rocks were mossy, and fir trees, pines, cedars, and cottonwoods added the charm of foliage to the brilliant colours of the rocks and the sheen of falling water, here and there lost in the most profound shadows. Beaman made a number of views while the rest of the men climbed for various purposes. Steward, Clem, and I by a circuitous route arrived at a point high up on Leaping Brook where the scene was beyond description. To save trouble on the return we descended the brook as it was easy to slide down places that could not be climbed. In this manner we succeeded in getting to the last descent near camp, to discover that it was higher than we thought and almost vertical with rough rocks at the bottom. As we could not go back and had no desire to break a leg, we were in trouble. Then we spied Jack in the camp a short distance away and called to him to put a tree up for us. Good-natured Jack, always ready to help, assumed a gruff tone and pretended he would never help us, but we knew better, and presently he threw up a long dead pine which we could reach by a short slide, and thus got to the river level. It was now noon, and as soon as dinner was over the boats were lowered by lines past the rapid beside camp and once below this we shot on our way with a fine current, soon arriving at two moderate rapids close together, which we ran. This brought us to a third with an ugly look, but on examination Prof. and the Major decided to run it. Getting a good entrance all the boats went through without the slightest mishap. A mile below this place we landed at the mouth of a pretty little stream entering through a picturesque and narrow canyon on the left. We called it Alcove Brook.

Beaman took some negatives here. This was not the easy matter that the dry-plate afterwards made it, for the dark tent had to be set up, the glass plate flowed with collodion, then placed in the silver bath, and exposed wet in the camera, to be immediately developed and washed and placed in a special box for carriage.

This would have been an ideal place for a hunter. Numerous fresh tracks of grizzlies were noticed all around, but we did not have the good luck to see any of the animals themselves. Happy grounds these canyons were at that time for the bears, and they may still be enjoying the seclusion the depths afford. The spot had an additional interest for us because it was here that on the first trip the brush caught fire soon after the party had landed, and they were forced to take to the boats so unceremoniously that they lost part of their mess-kit and some clothing.

On leaving Alcove Brook we ran a rapid and then another a little farther on, but they were easy and the river was much calmer though the current was still very swift. At the same time the walls to our satisfaction began to give indications of breaking. They became less high, less compact, and we ventured to hope that our battle with the waters of Lodore was about over. The Major said that, as nearly as he could remember, the end of the great gorge was not very far below. Though the sky was beginning to show the evening tints we kept on and ever on, swiftly but smoothly, looking up at the sky and at the splendid walls. The sun went down. The chasm grew hazy with the soft light of evening and the mystery of the bends deepened. There was no obstruction and in about three miles from Alcove Brook we rather abruptly emerged into a beautiful small opening, where the immediate walls were no more than six hundred feet high. A river of considerable size flowed in on the left, through a deep and narrow canyon. This was the Yampa, sometimes then called Bear River. By seven o'clock we had moored the boats a few yards up its mouth and we made a comfortable camp in a box-elder grove. We had won the fight without disaster and we slept that night in peace.

Lodore is wholly within the State of Colorado. It is 20-3/4 miles long with a descent of 420 feet,[9] mostly concentrated between Disaster Falls and Hell's Half-Mile, a distance of about 12 miles. The total descent from the Union Pacific crossing was 975 feet in a distance, as the river runs, of about 153 miles.



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: Professor Thompson's diary says he landed first after a hard pull, "and then caught the other boats below, they not succeeding in getting in."]

[Footnote 8: In his report the Major ascribes the naming of this cliff to an evening on the first voyage. The incident could hardly have occurred twice even had the camps been in the same place.]

[Footnote 9: In my Romance of the Colorado River these figures were changed to 275 because of barometrical data supplied me which was supposed to be accurate. I have concluded that it was not.]



CHAPTER V

A Remarkable Echo—Up the Canyon of the Yampa—Steward and Clem Try a Moonlight Swim—Whirlpool Canyon and Mountain Sheep—A Grand Fourth-of-July Dinner—A Rainbow-Coloured Valley—The Major Proceeds in Advance—A Split Mountain with Rapids a Plenty—Enter a Big Valley at Last.

The little opening between canyons we named Echo Park, first because after the close quarters of Lodore it seemed very park-like, and second because from the smooth bare cliff directly opposite our landing a distinct echo of ten words was returned to the speaker. I had never before, and have never since, heard so clear and perfect an echo with so many words repeated. We were camped on the right bank of the Yampa as the left was a bottom land covered with cedars and we preferred higher ground. This bottom was an alluvial deposit triangular in shape about a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide with the Yampa and Green on two sides and a vertical sandstone wall on the third. Behind our camp the rocks broke back in a rough, steep slope for perhaps a quarter of a mile, and this with the bottom-land and the lack of height in the walls near the river conveyed an impression of wide expanse when compared with the narrow limits in which we had for eight days been confined. The Green was here about 400 feet wide and was held in on the western side of the park by the Echo Cliff which was a vertical wall some 600 feet high composed of homogeneous sandstone, and consequently almost without a crack from top to bottom where its smooth expanse dropped below the surface of the water. It extended down river about three-fourths of a mile, the river doubling around its southern end.

The next day after arriving here most of us did not feel like doing any climbing and remained around camp, mending clothes and other articles, adjusting things that had become deranged by our rough work in the last canyon, recording notes, and making entries in diaries. Prof. took observations for latitude and longitude to establish the position of the Yampa so that it could be properly placed on the map. The Major during an exploring trip from the eastward in 1868 had reached the Yampa Canyon, but he could not cross it. He now decided to go up with a boat as far as possible in three days to supplement his former observations as well as to study the canyon in general. He had estimated its length at thirty miles, and this has proved to be correct. The Dean was unloaded, and with three days' rations the Major started with her in the morning manned by Jack, Beaman, Jones, and Andy. Of course they were all still tired from the strain of Lodore, and they were not enthusiastic about seeing the Yampa. In such work as was common through Lodore, it is as much the tension on the nerves, even though this is not realised at the time, as it is the strain on the muscles in transporting the cargoes and the boats, which makes one tired. I was entirely satisfied not to go with the Yampa party and I believe all the others left behind felt much the same.

Steward with Clem, when the Yampa expedition had gone, started back over the cliffs for Alcove Brook to geologise, leaving Prof. busy with observation, Cap. plotting the topographical notes and making his map thereby, and me with no special duty at the time. Every man who wants to be efficient in the field must learn to cook. This was my opportunity as Andy was absent and the others had their special work on hand, so I turned my attention to the culinary realm. A few directions and an example from Cap. who was a veteran gave me the method and I succeeded as my first offering, in placing before my comrades some biscuits hot from the Dutch oven, which compared favourably with those of Andy himself. With the constant practice Andy by this time had become an expert. The day wore away and at evening I got supper with more biscuits of which I was proud, but Steward and Clem failed to come to partake of them as we expected. Darkness fell and still there was dead silence outside of our camp. Much concerned we then ate supper momentarily expecting to hear their voices, but they did not come. Something had happened, but we could not follow their trail till morning to find out what it was. At ten o'clock we gave them up for the night deeply troubled about them. I had been sitting alone by the fire keeping the coffee hot and listening, when suddenly I heard a crackling of the bushes between me and the river and in a second or two Clem, laughing as over a joke, came to the fire with the water running off him in streams. While I was trying to get an explanation Steward also appeared in the same condition. At first they would not tell what had occurred but finally they confessed on condition that I would keep the matter a secret. They had made a long hard climb and late in the afternoon had come to a place where Steward found it necessary to descend to the river in examining the strata. They intended to climb back, but when the work was done the sun had set and it was too late to venture up as they could not climb in the dark. Rather than stay there all night they made a raft of two little dead cedars and tying their shoes upon it, they waited for the moon to rise. This was very soon and they slipped into the current relying on the raft merely to keep their heads above water. They knew there were no rapids between them and camp but they did not properly estimate the velocity of the river and the eddies and whirlpools. They kept near the left wall so as not to be carried past camp and in this they made a great mistake for they were caught in a whirlpool caused by a projection, and the raft was wrenched from them while they were violently thrown around. Steward being a powerful swimmer succeeded after nearly going under for good in regaining the raft which Clem meanwhile had been losing and recovering quickly several times. He was not a good swimmer. After this whirlpool was passed they reached the locality of our camp with no further adventure. They were very desirous that the story be kept from the rest of the party but they had hardly finished telling me when Prof. came and insisted on knowing what had occurred. Their punishment for this indiscretion was the hard climb back again to where they had left a rifle and other things that must be recovered.

A delightful episode of this camp was a row which several of us made up the Yampa in the moonlight. As far as we went the current was not swift and we were able to pull gently along under the great cliffs in shadows made luminous by the brilliancy of the moon. A song the Major was fond of singing, Softly and Sweetly it Comes from Afar, almost involuntarily, sprang from us all, though our great songster, Jack, was not with us. Jack had an extensive repertory, an excellent voice, and a hearty, exuberant spirit. He would sing Write Me a Letter from Home, The Colleen Bawn, The Lone Starry Hours, Beautiful Isle of the Sea, and many others in a way that brought tranquillity to our souls. We missed him on this evening but nevertheless our song sounded well, echoing from wall to wall, and we liked it. Somehow or other that night remains one of the fairest pictures I have ever seen.

Another day I went with Steward down across the triangular bottom to the lower end of the park where we climbed out through the canyon of a little brook to a sandy and desolate plateau. Currant bushes laden with fruit abounded and there were tracks of grizzlies to be seen. Possibly some may have been lying in the dense underbrush, but if so they kept their lairs as these bears generally do unless directly disturbed.

On the 30th of June Prof., Steward, and Cap. went for a climb. They proceeded to the lower end of the park by boat and through the little canyon that came in there, got out to the plateau where Steward and I had before been, but there they went farther. After a very hard climb they succeeded in reaching the crest where they had a broad view and could see nearly all of the next canyon with its rapids which we would have to pass through; the canyon the Major had called Whirlpool on his first trip. They could also see the Yampa River for twenty miles and discovered the Dean coming back down that stream, their attention being attracted by a gunshot in that direction, which they knew could be only from our own men. In camp during the day I again experimented in the culinary department, and produced two dried-apple pies, one of which Clem and I ate with an indescribable zest, and the other we kept to astonish the absentees with when they should reach camp. I have since learned that my method of pie-making was original I soaked the dried apples till they were soft then made a crust which had plenty of bacon grease in it for shortening and put the apples with sugar between, baking the production in the Dutch oven.

About five o'clock the Yampa explorers came. They were ragged, tired, and hungry having had nothing to eat all day, and not enough any day, as the Major had not taken sufficient supplies in his desire to make the boat light. They were all rather cross, the only time on the whole expedition that such a state existed, but when they had eaten and rested their genial spirits came back, they even liked my pie, and they told us about their struggle up the canyon.

We were all rather sorry to pull away from this comfortable camp at the mouth of the Yampa on July 3d, but the rapids of Whirlpool were challenging and we had to go and meet them. At the foot of Echo Park the Green doubles directly back on itself for a mile as it turns Echo Rock, the narrow peninsula of sandstone 600 feet high. The canyon became suddenly very close and assumed a formidable appearance. We listened for the roar of a rapid but for some time nothing was heard. The splendour of the walls impressed us deeply rising 2000 feet, many coloured, carved, and terraced elaborately. Our admiration was interrupted by a suggestive roar approaching and suddenly a violent rapid appeared. There was ample room and we got below it by a let-down, that is by lowering the boats one at a time with their cargoes on board, along the margin, working in and out of the side currents. Then we had dinner while waiting for the Canonita which had remained behind for pictures.

A part of my work was to make a continuous outline sketch of the left wall for the use of the geologists and this I was able to do as we went along. I had a pocket on the bulkhead in front of my seat in which I kept a sole leather portfolio, which I could use quickly and replace in the waterproof pocket.

The walls of the canyon became more flaring as soon as the rapid was passed at noon, but they lost none of their majesty. We now expected very bad river and whirlpools from the experience of the first party, but the river is never twice alike. Not only does its bottom shift, but every variation in stage of water brings new problems or does away with them entirely. It was an agreeable surprise to be able to run three rapids with ease by four o'clock, when we saw on some rocks two hundred feet above the stream a flock of mountain sheep. An immediate landing was made with fresh mutton in prospect. Unluckily our guns in anticipation of severe work had all been securely packed away, and it was some moments before they could be brought out. By that time the sheep had nimbly gone around a corner of the wall where a large side canyon was now discovered bringing in a fine creek. It was useless to follow the sheep though one or two made a brief trial, and camp was made in a cottonwood grove at the mouth of the creek. Cottonwoods fringed the stream as far as it could be seen from our position. Brush Creek we called it believing it to be the mouth of a stream in the back country known by that name. The next day, two or three miles up, a branch was found to come from the south, and as this was thought to be Brush Creek, the larger one was named after Cap., and "Bishop's Creek" was put on our map. Doubtless there are plenty of trout in this creek and in others we had passed, but we had no proper tackle for trout and besides seldom had time for fishing when at these places. Jack, when not too tired, fished in the Green and generally had good success. Our present locality would have been a rare place for a month or two's sojourn had we been sportsmen with time on our hands. Sheep, deer, and bear existed in abundance as well as smaller game, but we had to forget it though none of us cared about shooting for fun. Our minds were on other things. Often we went out leaving rifles behind as they were heavy in a climb.



Scarcely had we settled ourselves in this beautiful camp when we discovered that we ourselves were the hunted, and by an enemy that we could not vanquish—ants. There was no place in the neighbourhood that was out of their range. The best I could do was to make my bed two feet from the nearest hill and let them have their way. Morning was hailed with unusual delight for this reason and also because it was the "glorious Fourth," a day that every American remembers wherever he may be. We fired several rounds as a salute, and the Major concluded to keep this camp till the next morning. To enable Andy to have a day off and a climb out with a party to the open, I agreed to run the cook outfit, and felt highly complimented that they were willing to trust me after the pie episode. I immediately resolved to try my skill again in that quarter and expected to astonish the camp. I succeeded. The bill of fare which I evolved was ham, dried-apple pie, dried apples stewed, canned peaches, sugar syrup, bread, coffee, and some candy from Gunther's in Chicago. The candy had been presented to me at Green River Station by some passing friends, and I had hidden it in my bag waiting for this grand occasion. Ham was quite as much of a luxury as candy, for we had started with but three or four, and only used them on special days. As for the canned peaches, they were the only ones we had. The supper was a memorable one; not a grumble was heard from anybody, indeed they all praised it, and the only drawback, from my point of view, was that the scouting party did not return early enough to taste it in its prime. The Major threatened to expel the member who had smuggled in the candy as all the men declared they would go no farther unless they could have a plate of it for desert at every meal!

The next morning we were on the river early, glad to get away from the army of ants. The canyon walls ran along at about the same height as on the previous day, about 2400 feet, and while the river was swift and full of rapids everything seemed to favour us. Before halting for dinner we had run five rapids, three rather ugly, as well as letting down past one with lines. From where a stop was made for Andy's noonday operations, a flock of sheep was seen on the opposite side, and several went after them with no result but disappointment. When we started again we ran a rapid at once, then let down past the next, and followed that by running two more, the last the worst. The boats bumped occasionally on hidden rocks, but no harm was done them. The whole canyon was exceedingly beautiful, nevertheless we did not mourn when late in the afternoon, just after running the last rapid, the magnificent cliffs fell back and we saw more sky than at any time since leaving Brown's Park. On the right the rocks melted away into beautiful rainbow-coloured hills while on the left they remained steep, though retreating a mile or so from the water. The stretch of sky seemed enormous. Breathing appeared to be easier. The eye grows weary with the short range views, and yearns for space in which to roam.

The valley we were now in was not long; about four miles in a straight line, with a width of two. In this space the river meanders nine miles, one detour being very long. It spreads also amongst a number of islands, and the numerous channels became shallow till our keels grated here and there. Then they concentrated once more and we floated along on waters deep and black and slow. The marvellous colouring in the surrounding landscape impressed us, and the Major was for a time uncertain whether to call this "Rainbow" or "Island" Park, the decision finally being given to the latter. Shortly before sunset our meanderings terminated at the foot of the valley where the river once more entered the rocks, in a gateway as abrupt, though not as imposing as that of Lodore. A fine grove of box-elders on the right just above this gate, offered an attractive camping place, and there we stopped.

We were now in Utah again, having crossed the boundary somewhere in Whirlpool Canyon. The altitude was 4940 feet, showing a descent in Whirlpool Canyon of 140 feet in a distance of 14-1/4 miles. The next day I went with Beaman and Clem with a boat back to the foot of Whirlpool Canyon, in order that Beaman might get some views. It was a hard pull, and we discovered that what appears sluggish going down, is often the reverse to a boat going up. We could make headway only by keeping very close to the bank. It was supper-time when we again reached camp. The Major now announced that he intended to take the Dean and go on ahead, without stopping anywhere, to the mouth of the Uinta River, leaving us to follow as we could in doing the work. Cap. was to be taken in my place because of his previous experience in the army and in the West. That evening all was made ready. By break of day the camp was astir, breakfast was disposed of as quickly as possible, the Dean was manned, the Major went to his place on the middle cabin, they cast off and disappeared in the canyon gate. We then called this "Craggy Canyon," but later it was changed to Split Mountain.

All of the others crossed the river to climb to the top of the cliffs for observations and for photographs. I was left alone to watch camp. I longed to experiment further in the cooking line, and discovering a bag of ground coffee leaning against the foot of a tree, I said to myself, "coffee cake." I had heard of it, I had eaten it, I would again surprise the boys. I had no eggs, no butter, no milk (condensed milk was unknown at that time), but I had flour, water, cream of tartar, saleratus, sugar, salt, and ground coffee. I thought these quite enough, and went at my task. The mixture I made I put in a small tin and baked in the Dutch oven. I was so much occupied with this interesting experiment that I forgot all about time and about having something substantial ready for the return of the hungry climbers, so when they did come about noon, as famished as coyotes and dead tired, all I could offer was the cake, ever after famous on that trip, a brown, sugary solid, some six inches in diameter, two inches thick, and betraying its flavour everywhere by the coffee-grounds scattered lavishly through it. Andy gave it one brief sad look, and then went to work to get dinner. But they were such a rare lot of good fellows that they actually praised that cake and not only that, they ate it. The cake led to the discovery that the Major's party had left behind all their coffee, which was what I had used for flavouring, and they would have to content themselves with tea. From the heights our men had reached they could see, with a glass, the Dean working rapidly down the river. Next day another party went up to the same place, and I went along. The photographic outfit had been left there because rain the day before had spoiled the view, and we were to bring it down when more views had been taken. After a strong, steep climb we found ourselves on a peak or pinnacle about 3000 feet above the river, and therefore 7940 above sea-level.

The view from this point was extraordinary. Far below gleamed the river cleaving the rocks at our feet, and visible for several miles in the canyon churning its way down, the rapids indicated by bars of white. One hardly knew which way to look. Crags about us projected into the canyon, and I was inspired to creep out upon a long finger of sandstone where I could sit astride as on a horse and comfortably peer down into the abyss. It was an absolutely safe place, but Beaman and Clem feared the crag might break off with me, and they compelled me to come back to relieve their minds. Seldom does one have such a chance to see below as well as I could there. The long, narrow mountain stretched off to the west, seeming not more than a half-mile wide, and split open for its whole length by the river, which has washed its canyon longitudinally through it. In all directions were mountains, canyons, and crags in bewildering profusion.

When Beaman had ended his labours we started down the cliffs with his apparatus. This was the terror of the party. The camera in its strong box was a heavy load to carry up the rocks, but it was nothing to the chemical and plate-holder box, which in turn was a featherweight compared to the imitation hand-organ which served for a dark room. This dark box was the special sorrow of the expedition, as it had to be dragged up the heights from 500 to 3000 feet. With this machinery we reached camp pretty tired and glad to rest the remainder of the day, especially as Prof. said we would enter the new canyon the next morning. This was Sunday. A few minutes after starting we passed between perpendicular strata rising out of the water, and gradually bending above over to the horizontal, then breaking into crags. I never saw anything more like an artificial wall, so evenly were the rocky beds laid one against another. As we passed into the more broken portion a flock of sheep came into view high up on the crags on the right standing motionless evidently puzzled by the sound of our oars. We fired from the moving boats, but without result. Recovering from their surprise the sheep bounded lightly away. Our attention was required the next moment by a rapid which we ran—it was a small one—to find it followed by many thickly set with rocks. At the first we let down by line for half a mile, when we had dinner. Then we let down by line another half-mile, and ran half a mile more in easy water to the head of a very bad place, one of the worst we had seen, where we made another let-down. There was never any difficulty about landing when we desired, which made the work comparatively easy. The Canonita got some hard knocks and had to be repaired at one place before we could go on. The total distance made was only about three miles, but we could have gone farther had we not stopped for investigations, and to mend the boat.



Wet and weary we welcomed the order to camp, about five o'clock, and made ourselves comfortable with dry clothes from our rubber bags, the wet ones being spread, as was our custom, on rocks to dry. At high water many of these rapids would be rendered much easier. A quarter of a mile below camp was a small cave thirty or forty feet deep, very picturesque, with the river dashing into it, and in the water in front a rock twenty feet high, which had dropped down from somewhere above. Beaman got a very good picture here.

The river was falling fast and as the water lowered rocks more and more showed themselves in the rapids. Low water increases the labour but it increases the safety as well, for the velocity is less and the boats are more easily controlled.

The next day, July 10th, we did not start on down the river till one o'clock. Then we lowered the boats past two rapids and ran six, of which four were very bad on account of numerous rocks. Occasionally a boat would strike but none was injured seriously. The sun was directly in our faces blinding us, and a high wind was blowing which added to the difficulties. The walls were often vertical for a thousand feet or more, and the river was wide and shallow. There was a scorching hot sun, the temperature being near 100 in the shade. The rocks and even the sand became so hot that they were uncomfortable to the touch, but there was one advantage in this dry heat—our clothes were soon dry. During this day we landed on the wrong side to examine one rapid and had to run it from there. Both boats got through with only slight raps and we went on a short distance to camp at the head of a bad descent which was not runable at this stage of water. In the morning a line-portage was easily accomplished and we ran down a short distance farther when we stopped for dinner on a sandy beach. The sand scorched my feet for I had been without shoes for several days. All our shoes were giving out and mine were the first to go completely. Fortunately Beaman had an extra pair of army brogans which he lent me till we should reach Uinta. I had ordered, by advice in Chicago, two pairs of fine shoes at thirteen dollars a pair, but I now discovered that I ought to have bought shoes at two dollars instead for such work as this. We hoped to be able to get some new shoes from Salt Lake when we reached the Uinta River and again would be in touch, even though a very long touch, with the outside world. Our soap was all gone too, and supplies of every kind were getting low.

In the afternoon three more rapids were run and at a fourth we were compelled to make a line-portage. Then we saw the strata begin to curve over and down and finally drop into the river just as they had come out of it at the beginning. The crevices were filled with ferns and in places clear water was dripping from these little green cliff gardens. As we ran along the foot of the left wall we saw a peculiar and beautiful spring which had carved out a dainty basin where a multitude of ferns and kindred plants were thriving, a silvery rill dropping down from them. We emerged from the canyon as abruptly as we had entered it, and saw a broad valley stretching before us. Running a quarter of a mile on a smooth river camp was made on the right on a level floor carpeted with grass and surrounded by thickets of oak. We were in the beginning of what is now called Wonsits (Antelope) Valley, about eighty-seven miles long, the only large valley on the river above the end of Black Canyon. Split-Mountain Canyon eight miles long has one of the greatest declivities on the river, coming next to Lodore, though it differs from the latter in that the descent is more continuous and not broken into short, violent stretches. There would be plain sailing now to the head of the Canyon of Desolation.



CHAPTER VI

A Lookout for Redskins—The River a Sluggard—A Gunshot!—Someone Comes!—The Tale of a Mysterious Light—How, How! from Douglas Boy—At the Mouth of the Uinta—A Tramp to Goblin City and a Trip down White River on a Raft—A Waggon-load of Supplies from Salt Lake by Way of Uinta Agency—The Major Goes Out to Find a Way In.

Our thoughts now were mainly directed to pushing on to the mouth of the Uinta River and picking up our advance party, which by this time must have gotten in touch with the Uinta Agency. We felt gratified that another of the long line of canyons was a thing of the past and that for a brief time we would have easy water, so far as rapids were concerned. We were reminded that this was Indian country by discovering on a smooth face of rock wall not far from camp a lot of drawings pecked into the stone. They represented figures of natives, bison, elk, deer, mountain sheep, grizzly tracks, etc., and as they were the first pictographs I had ever seen I was particularly interested. The bison pictures indicated the former presence here in this valley of that fine animal. Numbers indeed once ranged these hills and valleys, but they had all disappeared many years before our voyage. We were on the lookout for Indians. As long as we were encompassed by the mighty walls of the canyons there was little probability of our meeting with any of the original people of this soil, but the valley now opening wide before us was their favourite haunt. Two divisions of Utes roamed the surrounding region. On the west it was the Uinta Utes who, we knew, were peaceable, and on the east it was the White River Utes, whose status as to peace and war was at that period somewhat vague and uncertain. We expected no trouble with any of them, yet the possibility of running at any moment on a band gave added interest and colour to the voyage. This was intensified by the feeling that we had suddenly been thrown out of doors, unprotected, as the huge, dominating precipices broke so suddenly back on both sides, leaving us hardly a rock with which, in case of necessity, to emulate the example of Roderick Dhu. Probably if we had travelled here on horseback in the open there would not have been this sense of having left our fortification behind.

July 12th the boats proceeded down a river so sluggish that the term "down" seemed a misnomer, and we actually had to row; had to work at the oars to make the boats go; these same boats which so recently had behaved like wild horses. This was not to our taste at all, the weather being extremely hot. But there was no help for it. The boats fairly went to sleep and we tugged away at their dull, heavy weight, putting the miles behind and recalling the express-train manner of their recent action. On each side of us there were occasional groves of cottonwoods and wide bottoms bounded by low hills. After about ten miles of steady pulling we discovered that we were only 2-1/2 miles from our starting place in a straight line. Here there was a superb cottonwood grove, massive trees with huge trunks like oaks, on the left. We found the remains of a camp-fire and decided that our advance party had come this far from Island Park the first day. They had accomplished a phenomenal run, but it showed what might be done with light boats and a full crew. As Steward desired to make some geological examinations at this point, Prof. announced that we would stay till morning. Another cause for stopping was a gale which blew with great force, making rowing exceedingly hard work, and it was hard enough anyhow with no good current to help.

Steward wished to go across the river, and I went with him. We tramped with our Winchesters on our shoulders for several hours, examining rocks and fossils. On our return we found that Andy was occupied in boiling a goose which Prof.'s sure aim had bestowed on the larder, and we had the bird for supper. If it was not one of the fossils it certainly was one of the "oldest inhabitants," which are found in every locality, and though a steady diet of bacon enthused us with an ambition to masticate this noble morsel, it had to be relegated to the impossibilities. We had a good deal of entertainment out of it, and while so engaged every ear caught the sound of a faint, distant gunshot. This was proof that we were no longer alone, and the question was, "How many Indians are there?" We simply waited developments. Night came on and the fierce wind died away completely as the sun went down. We gave no more thought to the shot, but all went to bed without even leaving a watch, so confident was Prof. that there was no enemy, and no danger of a surprise. He was always "level-headed" and never went off on a tangent doing wild or unwarranted things. He was a man of unusually sound judgment.

In the absence of Cap. the duty of reading barometer had fallen to me, and sometimes, when waiting for the hour to arrive, I had to sit alone for a time when the others already had turned in. It was that way on this night, and I waited with some impatience for nine o'clock to come. For the purpose of reading the scale we used a small bull's-eye lantern belonging to a transit instrument, and it threw out a long beam of light. I entertained myself by flashing this beam of light in various directions to the distress of one member lying near not asleep, who was somewhat nervous as to the character of the Indians responsible for the shot.

"Confound it," he growled, "you'll have the whole Ute tribe down on us! You know they are not far off!"

Of course I desisted in my "signalling," but Prof., not yet asleep, spoke up saying he did not believe any Indians would bother us. Finishing the observations I put out the lantern, and settled in my blankets. At that instant there was the flash of a light through the trees and then it glowed steadily for a moment and went out. My nervous neighbour saw it too. "There," he cried, "an answer to your confounded signal!" Several saw it. "The evening star setting beyond the hill," they declared, derisively, but we two maintained that it was nothing less than a light near by. Then sleep ruled the camp. In the middle of the night there was a sudden terrific cracking, rending, and crashing, starting all to their feet except Clem, who was not wakened by it. What had happened? We perceived in a second. One of the enormous limbs, weakened by the wind, had broken off and dropped to the ground in the middle of the camp. Luckily no one was under it and no harm was done, but for a moment, in connection with the light episode and the gunshot, it gave us a shock. Every one laughed, and soon the camp was still again. The sun was well up before we awoke. Immediately the discussion of the strange light came up, and it formed a lively and amusing topic, not only then, but ever after for months. Breakfast became a stirring debating scene, when plump into the midst of our hilarity, as if to emphasise the declarations of the nervous member, there came a sharp call from beyond a line of bushes. Almost on the instant appeared an Indian mounted on a dark bay horse trotting towards us exclaiming, "How, how!" and holding out his hand in token of friendship. His long black hair hung behind in two tails braided with red and black cotton cloth. The scalp at the part was painted vermilion, and around each eye was a ring of the same bright colour. His shirt was of the kind called hickory, and his leggins were of red woollen stuff. Altogether he was a good looking specimen of his race, and about twenty-five years old. How many more might be behind we could not tell.

He dismounted and Clem grasped him warmly by the hand, exclaiming with his most cordial smile, "Well, how are all the folks at home?" to which the visitor of course made no answer. Not one of our party understood Ute, and I had never seen a "wild" Indian at such close quarters before. The man motioned for something to eat, so Andy gave him a plate of breakfast, but there was a twinkle in Andy's blue eye, for the breakfast consisted largely of the rejected goose. When the red man's vision rested on the goose he gave a grunt of disgust and made no effort to even taste it, though he relished the other things and a cup of hot coffee. I have noticed that all Indians are very fond of coffee. We gleaned that he was alone with his squaw, and had a wickiup down the river a short distance. Doubtless he had examined our camp the previous night. The barometer hanging to a tree-branch caught his eye, and I tried by signs to explain it to him with no success except to convulse the whole crew. At length with the exclamation "Squaw," he rode away and came back with his fair partner riding behind. By this time we were packed up and we pushed off, the pair watching us with deep interest. About a mile and a half below by the river, we came on them again at their camp, they having easily beaten us by a short cut. Here was his wickiup made of a few cottonwood boughs, and in front of it the ashes of a fire. Our side immediately claimed this was the light we had seen, and the discussion of this point continued until another night put an end to it. In the bough shelter sat the blooming bride of "Douglas Boy," as he called himself, Douglas being the chief of the White River Utes. She was dressed well in a neat suit of navy-blue flannel and was lavishly adorned with ornaments. Her dress was bound at the waist by a heavy belt of leather, four inches wide, profusely decorated with brass discs and fastened by a brass buckle. She was young and quite pretty, and they were a handsome couple. He intimated that he would be grateful to be ferried across the river, here almost half a mile wide, so his blankets, saddles, and whole paraphernalia were piled on the boats, while the two horses were driven into the water and pelted with stones till they made up their minds that the farther shore offered greater hospitality, and swam for it. Then the squaw and the brave were taken on separate boats. She hesitated long before finally trusting herself, and was exceedingly coy about it. She had probably never seen a boat before. At last, overcoming her fear she stepped tremblingly on board and in a few minutes we had them landed on the other side, where we said farewell and went on.

In the afternoon we discovered a number of natives on the right bank and landed to see what they were. Nothing more terrible than several badly frightened squaws and children occupied the place, the men being away. We thought this call on the ladies would suffice, and presenting them with a quantity of tobacco for their absent lords, we pulled away, leaving them still almost paralysed with fright and astonishment at our sudden and unexpected appearance and disappearance. The valley was now very wide, and the river spread to a great width also, giving conditions totally different from any we had found above. Rowing was real labour here, but Prof. was eager to arrive at the mouth of the Uinta the next day so it was row, row, with a strong, steady, monotonous stroke, hour after hour till we had put twenty miles behind when we stopped for the night. Next morning the same programme was continued from seven o'clock on, with a brief halt for dinner. About four a storm came up, compelling us to wait an hour, when on we pulled, with a temperature something like 100 deg.F., in the shade, till sunset, when about forty miles from our starting point, we arrived at the mouth of a river on the right, which we thought must be the Uinta. But finally as there was no sign of our advance party we concluded there must be a mistake. There was so little current in the tributary we thought it might be something besides a river, the mouth of a lake perhaps, and that the Uinta was farther on. About a mile down in the dim light there appeared to be a river mouth, but on reaching the place there was nothing of the kind. Several signal shots were fired. They fell dead on the dull stillness of the night which was dropping fast upon us. We took to the oars once more and pulled down nearly another mile till the dark grew so thick it was not prudent to proceed, and Prof. ordered a landing on the left where we made a hasty cup of coffee to refresh the inner man, and turned in, much puzzled and troubled by the absence of any kind of a signal from the advance party. Some one suggested that they had all been killed, but Prof. met this with scornful ridicule and went to sleep. When daylight came a river was discovered less than half a mile below our camp coming in from the east. Prof. knew this to be White River from the map, the mouths of White and Uinta rivers having long been quite accurately established. The mouth of the Uinta must therefore be where we had been the night before, and Prof. walked back till he came opposite to it. We then got the boats back by rowing and towing, and landed on the right or west bank about a quarter of a mile above the mouth of the Uinta, where the old time crossing had been, and which we had passed unnoticed in the evening light. Here were the ashes of a camp-fire, and after much searching a tin can was found with a note in it from the Major, saying they had all gone out to the Agency, and that we were to wait here.

A large cottonwood tree stood on the low bank where travellers before had camped, not in going up and down the river, but on their way across country. It was a very old tree and its bark presented many marks, names, and dates, and I regret now that I did not copy them for reference. This was one of the known crossings for a long period, in fact, it was through this valley that Escalante, the first white man to cross Green River, travelled in 1776, and it is possible that he may have camped under this very tree.[10] We settled there to wait, harassed by multitudes of voracious mosquitoes. All day we remained, expecting the absentees, but the sun went down and still there was no word. About seven o'clock while we were eating supper, some shots and yells from the west took us to the top of the bank, and we saw two horsemen galloping towards our position. We soon made them out to be Cap. and Jones. They brought a large mail, a portion of it the same we had tried to stop at Salt Lake, and have returned to us at the Gate of Lodore, and they reported that the Major had gone out to Salt Lake. We built up a good fire, and by its light everyone was quickly lost in letters from home.

The next morning we got the Dean out of the bushes where she had been well hidden, and moved across the river with the whole outfit, to a place in front of a half-finished log cabin called Fort Robideau, after the trapper of that name, who years before had roamed this country. A road crossing here from Golden to Provo, 413 miles long, was laid out in 1861 by Berthoud and Bridger for the Overland Stage Company, but the Civil War and the building of the Union Pacific had prevented its realisation.[11] The cabin had no windows or doors, but for summer that was not a defect. The mud roof was intact, and we used the cabin for headquarters, though we preferred to sleep out on the ground. Back of the building a wide level plain spread away and deer and antelope ranged there in large numbers. Any short walk would start up antelope, but we had other matters on our mind, and made no special effort to shoot any. It would have been easy for a trained hunter to get all he wanted, or even for one of us to do it had we dropped other things and given our minds to the work.

The following Monday, July 17th, Prof. and Beaman left for the Agency, and on Friday of the same week Jack returned accompanied by a man named Basor, driving a large four-horse waggon loaded with supplies for us. We were in need of them. We had been completely out of soap for two weeks or more, and a box of that essential article was broken open the first thing. Jack also brought from the Agency garden some lettuce, new potatoes, and turnips. Not having tasted any vegetables for two months, these were a great treat. The same afternoon Basor went away taking letters from us with him to be sent to Salt Lake. One of the special things he had brought was three long, narrow pieces of flat iron made by the Agency blacksmith from old wagon tires, for the keels of the boats, which were badly worn by scraping on shoals and rocks in our portaging and letting-down operations.

On the next Monday, Cap., Steward, and I with five days' rations on our backs as well as blankets enough for the warm nights, and our rifles, started on a journey up White River to a place called Goblin City by one of the earlier explorers who had crossed the valley. As we were going through some heavy willows about noon, I discovered standing still before me and not a hundred feet away the finest stag I have ever seen. He stood like a Landseer picture, head erect and alert with huge branching antlers poised in the air. He was listening to my companions who were a little distance from me. My gun being tied to my pack for easy travelling I could not quickly extricate it and before I could bring it to bear he dashed through the willows and a sensible shot was impossible. I admired him so much that I was rather glad I could not shoot. We came across a great deal of game, antelope, mountain sheep, and deer but we never seemed to have the opportunity to stalk it properly. When we finally came in sight of the Goblin City it was six o'clock of the second day and we had travelled steadily. At the farther end of a level little valley surrounded by cliffs were numerous small buttes and square rocks, almost in rows and about the size of small buildings, so that there was a striking suggestion of a town. We slept near the river and spent the next morning in examining the locality. When we had completed the observations I got dinner while Steward and Cap. with our gun-straps and some buckskin strings made a raft from small cottonwood logs we found on the bank. Upon this weaving affair we all three embarked to descend the river in order to meander the course as well as to save our legs. Steward and Cap. stood at either end with long poles while I sat in the middle and took the compass sights as we passed along. There were some sharp little rapids full of rocks, and sometimes it was all we could do to stick on, for the raft being flexible naturally would straddle a big rock and take the form of a very steep house roof. The banks were thick with currant bushes loaded with ripe fruit and we kept a supply of branches on the raft to pick off the currants as we went along. Everywhere there were many fresh tracks of bears for they are fond of this fruit, but if they saw us we failed to see them, though some of the tracks appeared to have been made not more than a few minutes before. As we drifted between high banks there was a violent crashing of bushes and a beautiful fawn, evidently pursued by bear or wolf, plunged through and dropped into the stream. Cap. took a shot at it from the wobbling raft but of course failed. The fawn landed at the bottom of a mud wall ten feet high and for a moment seemed dazed, but by some herculean effort it gained the plain and sped away to freedom and we were not at all sorry to see it go. All the next day we kept on down White River on the raft and at seven o'clock were still five miles from camp in a direct course and no food left. As the stream meandered a great deal we parted from it and went to headquarters on foot.

We now expected hourly the return of Prof. and the Major, but another day passed without them or any message. The next day was Saturday and it faded away also without any event. Just after supper there was a hail from the west bank and on going over with a boat we found there Prof., Beaman, and an Indian. The Major had not come because Captain Dodds, commanding the party which was charged with the taking of rations for us to the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, our next supply station, had sent word that he could not find a way through the unknown region. The Major concluded that he would have to go and try it himself. His plan was for us to go on and he would join us again August 25th at Gunnison Crossing, at the end of the Canyon of Desolation, the next canyon of the series. Gunnison Crossing was an established point with a trail leading there from east and west. We were to wait for him till September 3d in that neighbourhood, and if he failed to arrive we were to go on and get through as best we could on the rations remaining. Our present intercourse with the world was now terminated by our sending the Indian who had come with Prof. back to the Agency with our mail. Prof. had brought in some fresh beef which was a great treat but there was little of it and after a couple of meals we were on bacon and beans again. Had an Indian from the Agency been hired for the purpose of hunting, we might have had plenty of venison during our stop here. Sunday our old acquaintance Douglas Boy came to camp and was employed to make moccasins to save our shoes. Some new shoes had been sent in to us, but for climbing and walking the rawhide-soled moccasins were excellent and would save our shoes for river work. The Indian had a beaded cap pouch which I secured from him for some vermilion and he was ready to trade, but the next day Jack caught him trying to steal our buckskin by hiding it in his blankets which rudely sundered our business relations. Jack himself acquired the art of moccasin-making and he made each of us an excellent pair in his spare time. Steward and I went back up White River to finish our work but the raft timbers were gone and we could find no others, so we had to do what we could on foot. When we returned I discovered some ginger among the supplies and thinking it time for variety in our bill of fare, and it being Cap.'s birthday, I made a large ginger-cake which was voted prime. We ate half of it at one sitting with an accompaniment of lime-juice "lemonade."