Supper was taken at the hotel, after which we visited a young man in charge of the store, looking over his curios and listening to tales of his life here among these Indians. They were peaceable enough now, but in years gone by were a danger to be reckoned with. We slept in our own beds close to our boats by the river.

The following morning, when we were ready to leave, a small crowd gathered, a few Indians among them. Most of the Indians were big, fat, and sleepy-looking. Apparently they enjoyed the care of the government. A mile below we pa.s.sed several squaws and numerous children under some trees, while on a high mound stood a lone buck Indian looking at us as we sped by, but without a single movement that we could see. He still stood there as we pa.s.sed from sight a mile below. It might be interesting if one could know just what was in his mind as he watched us.

A mile below the Uinta River, which entered on the west, we pa.s.sed another stream, the White River, entering from the east, the two streams adding considerable water to the Green River. We pa.s.sed another idle dredge, also some mineral workings in tunnels, and saw two men camped on the sh.o.r.e beside them. We saw numerous Indian carvings on the rocks, but judged they were recent because horses figured in most of them. In all the open country the river was fringed with large cottonwood trees, alders and willow thickets. A number of islands followed, one of them very symmetrical in shape, with cottonwood trees in the centre, while around the edge ran a fringe of bushes looking almost like a trimmed hedge. The autumn colouring added to its beauty. The hedge, as we called it, was dark red, brown, yellow, and green; the cottonwoods were a light yellow. After we had pa.s.sed this island, a deer, confused by our voices, jumped into the river fifty yards behind us, leaping and swimming as he made for the sh.o.r.e. We had no gun, but Emery had the moving-picture camera at hand, and turned it on the deer. The hour was late, however, and we had little hopes of its success as a picture. The country back from the river stretched in rolling, barren hills 200 or 300 feet high--a continuation of the Bad Lands of Utah, which lay off to the west.

With the next day's travel the hills lost some of their barren appearance. Some cattle were seen early in the afternoon of the following day. We pa.s.sed a cattle man working at a ferry, who had just taken some stock across, which other men had driven on ahead. He was busy, so we did not interrupt him, merely calling to him from the boats, drifting meanwhile with the current. Soon we saw him riding down the sh.o.r.e and waited for him to catch up. He invited us to camp with him that evening, remarking that he had "just killed a beef." We thanked him, but declined, as it was early and we had only travelled a short distance that day. We chatted awhile, and he told us to look out for rapids ahead. He was rather surprised when he learned that we had started at Green River, Wyoming, and had already come through a few rapids.

"Where are you going to stop?" he then asked.

On being told that our destination was Needles, California, he threw up his hands with an expressive gesture, then added soberly, "Well, boys, I sure wish you luck," and rode back to his camp.

We had difficulty in making a suitable landing that evening, as the high water had deposited great quant.i.ties of black mud over everything, making it very disagreeable when we left the boats. We finally found a place with less mud to wade through than on most of the banks seen, and tied up to the roots of a tree.

While lying in our beds that night looking at the starlit sky--such a sky as is found only on these high plateaus--we discovered a comet directly above us. An astronomer would have enjoyed our opportunities for observing the heavens. No doubt this comet had been heralded far and wide, but we doubt if any one saw it to better advantage than did we.

Later, some coyotes, possibly in chase of a rabbit, gave vent to their yodeling cry, and awakened us from a sound sleep. They were in a little lateral canyon, which magnified and gave a weird, organ-like echo to their calls long after the coyotes themselves had pa.s.sed from hearing.

The nights were getting warmer as we travelled south, but not so warm that we were bothered with insects. The same reason accounted for the absence of snakes or scorpions, for no doubt there were plenty of both in warm weather in this dry country. When there was no wind, the silence of the nights was impressive, with no sound save the lapping of the water against the banks. Sometimes a bird in the trees above would start up with a twitter, then quiet down again. On occasions the air chambers in our boats would contract on cooling off, making a noise like the boom of a distant gun, every little sound being magnified by the utter stillness of the night.

There were other times when it was not so quiet. Hundreds of birds, geese, ducks and mud-hens had been seen the last few days. Also there were occasional cranes and herons, over a thousand miles from their breeding place at the mouth of the Colorado. As dusk settled, we would see these birds abandon their feeding in the mud, and line up on the sh.o.r.e, or on an island, and go to sleep. Occasionally one of these birds would start up out of a sound sleep with an unearthly squawk.

Possibly an otter had interrupted its dreams, or a fox had pounced on one as it slept. It may be that it was only a bad dream of these enemies that caused their fright, but whatever it was, that first call would start up the entire flock and they would circle in confusion like a stampeded herd of cattle, their discordant cries putting an end to the stillness of the night. Finally they would settle down in a new spot, and all would be quiet once more.

We saw a few birds that were strangers to us,--water birds which we imagined belonged to the salt water rather than the inland streams, making a little excursion, perhaps, away from their accustomed haunts.

One type we saw on two occasions, much like a gull, but smaller, pure white as far as we could tell, soaring in graceful flight above the river.

Camp No. 26 was close to the beginning of a new canyon. The country had been changing in appearance from rather flat plains to small bare hills, gradually increasing in height with smooth, rounded sides, and going up to a point, usually of a dirty clay colour, with little vegetation of any kind on them. The river for miles past had swept in long graceful curves, the hills being close to the river on the outside of the curve, leaving a big flat on the inside. This flat gradually sloped back to hills of an equal height to those opposite.

Then the curve would reverse, and the same conditions would be met with again, but on opposite sides from the previous bend. After pa.s.sing a creek the evening before, the hills became higher, and from our camp we could see the first place where they came close on both sides to the river. We felt now that our beautiful tree-covered canyons were behind us and from now on we would be hemmed in by the great eroded canyons of the Southwest. We were sorry to leave those others behind, and could easily understand why Major Powell had named this Desolation Canyon.

As the canyon deepened the cliffs were cut into fantastic shapes, as is usual in rocks unprotected by vegetation. There was a hard rock near the top in places which overhung a softer formation. This would erode, giving a cornice-like effect to the cliffs. Others were surmounted by square towers and these were capped by a border of little squares, making the whole look much like a castle on the Rhine.

For half a day we found no rapids, but pulled away on a good current.

The walls gradually grew higher and were more rugged; a few trees cropped out on their sides. At noon our boats were lashed together and lunch was eaten as we drifted. We covered about three miles in this way, taking in the scenery as we pa.s.sed. We saw a great stone arch, or natural bridge, high on a stupendous cliff to our right, and wondered if any one had ever climbed up to it. Our lunch was no more than finished when the first rapid was heard ahead of us. Quickly unlashing our boats, we prepared for strenuous work. Friday the 13th proved to be a lucky day; thirteen large rapids and thirteen small ones were placed behind us before we camped at Rock Creek--a splashing, laughing mountain stream, no doubt containing trout.

The following morning we found there was a little ranch house below us, but, though we called from our boats, no one came out. We wondered how any one could reach this out-of-the-way place, as a road would be almost an impossibility. Later we found a well-constructed trail on the right-hand side all the way through the canyon. We saw a great many cattle travelling this trail. Some were drinking at the river when we swept into view. Our boats filled them with alarm, and they scrambled for the hillsides, looking after us with frightened expressions as we left them to the rear.

We put in a full day at running rapids, one after another, until fifteen large ones were pa.s.sed, no count being kept of the smaller ones. Some of these rapids resembled dams from six to twelve feet high, with the water falling abruptly over a steep slope. Others were long and rough, with swift water in places. Above one of these we had landed, then found we could get a much better view from the opposite sh.o.r.e. Emery crossed and landed, I followed. We had been having heavy winds all day. When crossing here I was caught by a sudden gust of wind and carried to the head of the rapid. I heard Emery call, "Look out for the big rock!" then over I went. The wind and water together had turned my boat sideways, and try as I would I could not get it turned around. I saw the rock Emery referred to straight ahead of me.

It was about fifteen feet square and about fourteen feet from the sh.o.r.e, with a powerful current shooting between the rock and the sh.o.r.e. It seemed as if I must strike the rock broadside, and I ceased my struggle, but held out an oar with both hands, hoping to break the blow. But it never came. The water struck this rock with great force, then rebounded, and actually kept me from even touching the rock with the oar, but it caught the boat and shot it through the narrow channel, bow first, as neatly as it could possibly be done, then, turned the boat around again as I scrambled to regain my hold on both oars. No other rocks threatened however, and besides filling the c.o.c.kpit with water, no damage was done.

Emery had no desire to follow my pa.s.sage and crossed back to the other side. Shooting over the upper end of the rapid, his boat ran up on a rounded rock, the stern sticking high in the air; it paused a moment, the current slowly turning it around as if on a pivot, and the boat slid off; then down he came lurching and plunging, but with no more difficulty. Many times in such places as these we saw the advantage of our flat-bottomed boats over one with a keel, for these would surely be upset when running up on such a rock.

CHAPTER X

HOSPITABLE RANCHMEN

The appearance of Desolation Canyon had changed entirely in the lower end. Instead of a straight canyon without a break, we were surrounded by mountain peaks nearly 2500 feet high, with many side canyon between them and with little level parks at the end of the canyons beside the river. The tops were pine-covered; cedars clung to the rocky slopes.

Some of these peaks were not unlike the formations of the Grand Canyon, as seen from the inner plateau, and the red colouring was once more found in the rocks.

These peaks were gradually dropping down in height; and at one open section, with alfalfa and hay fields on gently sloping hillsides, we found a small ranch, the buildings being set back from the river. We concluded to call and found three men, the rancher and two young cowboys, at work in a blacksmith shop. Emery had forgotten to remove his life-preserver, and the men looked at him with some astonishment, as he was still soaking wet from the splashing waves of the last rapid.

When I joined him he was explaining that no one had been drowned, and that we were merely making an excursion down the river. Mr. McPherson, the rancher, we learned, owned all the cattle seen up the river. The little cabin at our last camp was a sort of headquarters for his cowboys. The cattle were just being driven from the mountains before the snows came, and were to be wintered here in the canyons. Some of these cattle were much above the usual grade of range cattle, being thoroughbreds, although most of them ran loose on the range. This ranch had recently lost a valuable bull which had been killed by a bear up in the mountains--not unlike similar conflicts in more civilized sections of the country. McPherson camped on this bear's trail for several days and nights before he finally hung his pelt on a tree. He was a large cinnamon-coloured grizzly. Four other bears had been killed this same year, in these mountains.

McPherson's home had burned down a short time before our visit, and his family had removed to Green River, Utah. A number of tents were erected, neatly boarded up, and we were informed that one of these was reserved for company, so we need not think of going any farther that day. These men, while absolutely fearless in the saddle, over these rough mountain trails, had "no use for the river" they told us; in fact, we found this was the usual att.i.tude of the cattle men wherever we met them. McPherson's respect for the river was not without reason, as his father, with two others, had been drowned while making a crossing in a light boat near this point, some years before. Some accident occurred, possibly the breaking of a rowlock, and they were carried into a rapid. McPherson's men found it necessary to cross their cattle back and forth, but always took the wise precaution to have on some life-preservers. The cork preservers hung in the blacksmith shop, where they could easily be reached at a moment's notice.

Desolation Canyon, with a slight breaking down of the walls for a short distance only, gave place to Gray Canyon below the McPherson Ranch. A good sized mountain stream, part of which irrigated the ranch above, found its way through this division. We had been told that more rapids lay ahead of us in Gray Canyon, but they were not so numerous in our next day's travel. What we did find were usually large, but we ran them all without difficulty. About noon we met five men in a boat, rowing up the stream in a long, still stretch. They told us they were working on a dam, a mile or two below. They followed us down to see us make the pa.s.sage through the rapid which lay above their camp. The rapid was long and rocky, having a seventeen-foot fall in a half mile.

We picked our channel by standing up in the boat before entering the rapid and were soon at the bottom with no worse mishap than b.u.mping a rock or two rather lightly. We had bailed out and were tying our boats, when the men came panting down the hill up which they had climbed to see us make this plunge. A number of men were at work here, but this being Sunday, most of them had gone to Green River, Utah, twenty-one miles distant.

Among the little crowd who came down to see us resume our rowing was a lady and a little girl who lived in a rock building, near the other buildings erected for the working-men. Emery showed the child a picture of his four-year-old daughter, Edith, with her mother--a picture he always carried in a note-book. Then he had her get in the boat with him, and we made a photograph of them. They were very good friends before we left.

In a few hours we emerged from the low-walled canyon into a level country. A large b.u.t.te, perhaps 700 feet high, stood out by itself, a mile from the main cliffs. This was Gunnison b.u.t.te, an old landmark near the Gunnison trail. We were anxious to reach Blake or Green River, Utah, not many miles below, that evening; but we failed to make it. There were several rapids, some of them quite large, and we had run them all when we came to a low dam that obstructed our pa.s.sage, While looking it over, seeing how best to make a portage, a young man whom we had just seen remarked: "Well, boys, you had better tie up and I will help you in the morning."

It was 5.30 then, and we were still six miles from Green River, so we took his advice and camped. On seeing our sleeping bags, tightly strapped and making rather small roll, he remarked: "Well, you fellows are not Mormons; I can tell by the size of your beds!"

Our new friend gave the name of Wolverton. There was another man named Wilson who owned a ranch just below the dam. Both of these men were much interested in our experiences. Wolverton had considerable knowledge of the river and of boats; very little persuasion would have been necessary to have had him for a companion on the balance of our journey. But we had made up our minds to make it alone, now, as it looked feasible. Both Wilson and Wolverton knew the country below Green River, Utah, having made surveys through much of the surrounding territory. Wolverton said we must surely see his father, who lived down the river and who was an enthusiast on motor boats. A few minutes' work the next morning sufficed to get our boats over the dam.

The dam was constructed of loose rock and piles, c.h.i.n.ked with brush and covered with sloping planks,--just a small dam to raise the water for irrigation purposes. Much of the water ran through the ca.n.a.l; in places the planks were dry, in others some water ran over. The boats, being unloaded were pulled up on these planks, then slid into the water below. Wilson had a large water wheel for irrigation purposes, the first of several such wheels which we were to see this day. These wheels, twenty feet or more in height,--with slender metal buckets each holding gallons of water, fastened at intervals on either side,--were placed in a swift current, anch.o.r.ed on the sh.o.r.e to stout piles, or erected over mill-races cut in the banks. There they revolved, the buckets filling and emptying automatically, the water running off in troughs above the level of the river back to the fertile soil. Some of these wheels had ingenious floating arrangements whereby they accommodated themselves to the different stages of a rising or falling river. We took a few pictures of Wilson's place before leaving. He informed us that he had telephoned to certain people in Green River who would help us in various ways. Two hours'

rowing, past many pretty little ranches, brought us to the railroad bridge, a grateful sight to us. A pumping plant stood beside the bridge under charge of Captain Yokey, one of Wilson's friends. Yokey owned a large motor boat, which was tied up to the sh.o.r.e. Our boats were left in his charge while we went up to the town, a mile distant.

Another of Wilson's friends met us, and secured a dark room for us so that we could do a little developing and we prepared for work on the following day.

That night a newspaper reporter hunted us out, anxious for a story. We gave him what we had, making light of our previous difficulties, which were exciting enough at times; but owing to the comparatively small size of the stream, we seldom thought our lives were in any great danger. The papers made the most of these things, and the stories that came out had little semblance to our original statements. We have since learned that no matter how much one minimizes such things, they are seldom published as reported.

We put in a busy day unpacking new films and plates developing all films from the smaller cameras and sending these home. A new stock of provisions had to be purchased, enough for one month at least, for there was no chance of securing supplies until we reached our canyon home, about 425 miles below.

We had a valuable addition to our cargo in two metal boxes that had been shipped here, as it was not possible to get them before leaving Wyoming. These cases or trunks were sent from England, and were water-tight, if not waterproof, there being a slight difference. Well constructed, with rubber gaskets and heavy clamps, every possible precaution had been taken, it seemed, to exclude the water and still render them easy of access. They were about thirty inches long, fifteen wide, and twelve high, just the thing for our photographic material. Up to this time everything had to be kept under the deck when in bad water. These boxes were placed in the open section in front of us, and were thoroughly fastened to the ribs to prevent loss, ready to be opened or closed in a moment, quite a convenience when pictures had to be taken hurriedly.

The following day we went over the boats, caulking few leaks. The bottoms of the boats were considerably the worse for wear, owing to our difficulties in the first canyons. We got some thin oak strips and nailed them on the bottom to help protect them, when portaging.

Sliding the boats on the scouring sand and rough-surfaced rock was hard on the half-inch boards on the bottom of the boats. This work was all completed that day, and everything was ready for the next plunge.

In pa.s.sing the station, we noticed the elevation above sea-level was placed at 4085 feet, and remembered that Green River, Wyoming, was 6080 feet, showing that our descent in the past 425 miles had been close to 2000 feet. We had not found it necessary to line or portage any rapids since leaving Lodore Canyon; we were hopeful that our good luck would continue.

Nothing was to be feared from what remained of the Green River, 120 miles or more, for motor boats made the journey to its junction with the Grand, and we were told even ascended the Grand for some distance.

Below this junction was the Colorado River, a different stream from the one we were still to navigate.

Before leaving, we ate a final hearty breakfast at the boarding-house where we had been taking our meals. A number of young men, clerks in some of the business houses here, were among the boarders. The landlady a whole-souled German woman and an excellent cook, was greatly worried over their small appet.i.tes, thinking it was a reflection on her table. She remarked that she hoped we had good appet.i.tes, and I am sure she had no complaint to make so far as we were concerned. We had never stinted ourselves when on the river, but the change and the rest seemed to give us an abnormal appet.i.te that could not be satisfied, and we would simply quit eating because we were ashamed to eat more. Less than half an hour after one of these big meals, I was surprised to see my brother in a restaurant with a sheepish grin on his face, and with a good-sized lunch before him.

CHAPTER XI

WONDERS OF EROSION

_Thursday, October the 19th_. We embarked again with two of our new-found friends on board as pa.s.sengers for a short ride, their intention being to hunt as they walked back. They left us at a ranch beside the San Rafael River, a small stream entering from the west.

They left some mail with us to be delivered to Mr. Wolverton, whose son we had met above. About 20 miles below Green River we reached his home. Judging by a number of boats--both motor and row boats--tied to his landing, Mr. Wolverton was an enthusiastic river-man. After glancing over his mail, he asked how we had come and was interested when he learned that we were making a boating trip. He was decidedly interested when he saw the boats and learned that we were going to our home in the Grand Canyon. His first impression was that we were merely making a little pleasure trip on the quiet water.