Half an hour later we passed the abandoned Imperial Canal, the man-made channel which had nearly destroyed the vast agricultural lands which it had in turn created.  Just such a flood as that on which we were travelling had torn out the insufficiently supported head-gates.  The entire stream, instead of pushing slowly across the delta, weltering in its own silt to the Gulf, poured into the bottom of the basin nearly four hundred feet below the top of this silt-made dam.  In a single night it cut an eighty-foot channel in the unyielding soil, and what had once been the northern end of the California Gulf was turned into an inland sea, filled with the turbid waters of the Colorado, instead of the sparkling waters of the ocean.  Nothing but an almost superhuman fight finally rescued the land from the grip of the water.

A short distance below, just across the Mexican line, on the California side, was the new canal, dug in a firmer soil and with strongly built gates anchored in rock back from the river.

Half a mile away from the stream, on a spur railway, was the Mexican custom-house.  I had imagined that it would be beside the river, and that guards would be seen patrolling the shore.  But aside from an Indian fishing, there was no one to be seen.  We walked out to the custom-house, gave a list of the few things which we had, assured them that we carried no guns, paid our duty, and departed.  We had imagined that our boat would be inspected, but no one came near.

The border line makes a jog here at the river and the Arizona-Mexico line was still a few miles down the stream.  We had passed the mouth of the old silt-dammed Colorado channel, which flowed a little west of south; and we turned instead to the west into the spreading delta or moraine.  About this time I remarked that I had seen no store at the custom-house and that I must not neglect to get provisions at the next one or we would be rather short.

“We passed our last custom-house back there.”  Al replied, “That’s likely the last place we will see until we get to the ranch by the Gulf.”

No custom-house!  No store!  This was a surprise.  What was a border for if not to have custom-houses and inspectors?  With all the talk of smuggling I had not thought of anything else.  And I could tell by Al’s tone that his estimation of my foresight had dropped several degrees.  This was only natural, for his disappointment and the jibes still rankled.

At last we were wholly in Mexican territory.  With the States behind, all of our swiftly running water had departed, and we now travelled on a stream that was nearly stagnant.  All the cottonwood logs which had finally been carried down the stream after having been deposited on a hundred shores, found here their final resting place.  About each cluster of logs an island was forming, covered with a rank grass and tules.

Ramified channels wound here and there.  Two or three times we found ourselves in a shallow channel, and with some difficulty retraced our way.  All channels looked alike, but only one was deep.