there is a running stream.  The river glistens in the sunlight, as it winds around the base of the wall on which we stand, and then disappears around a bend in the canyon.  Turn where we will, we see no sign of an opening, nothing but the rounded tops of wooded mountains, red and green, far as the eye can reach, until they disappear in the hazy blue.  Finally Emery’s keen eyes, aided by the binoculars, discover a log cabin at the foot of a mountain, on the plateau opposite us about three miles away.”

“We hurry back to camp and write some letters; then Jim and I cross the river and climb out over the rocky walls to the plateau above.  In two hours we reach the cabin.  It is new—­not yet finished.  A woman and four children are looking over a garden when we arrive.  They are a little frightened at first, but soon recover.  The woman gladly promises to take out our mail when they go to the nearest town, which happens to be Vernal, Utah, forty-five miles away.  Three other families live near by, all recently moved in from Vernal.  The woman tells us that Galloway hunts bear in these timbered mountains, and has killed some with a price on their heads—­bear with a perverted taste for fresh beef."[3]

“Thanking the woman, we make our way back to the river.  We see some dried-out elk horns along our trail; though it is doubtful if elk get this far south at present.  A deer trail, leading down a ravine, makes our homeward journey much easier.  It has turned quite cold this evening, after sunset.  We finish our notes and prepare to roll into our beds a little earlier than usual.”

CHAPTER IV

SUSPICIOUS HOSTS

We awoke bright and early the next morning, much refreshed by our day of rest and variety.  With an early start we were soon pulling down the river, and noon found us several miles below the camp, having run eleven rapids with no particular difficulty.  A reference in my notes reads:  “Last one has a thousand rocks, and we could not miss them all.  My rowing is improving, and we both got through fairly well.”  In the afternoon they continued to come—­an endless succession of small rapids, with here and there a larger one.  The canyon was similar to that at our camp above, dark red walls with occasional pines on the ledges,—­a most charming combination of colour.  At 2.30 P.M. we reached Ashley Falls, a rapid we had been expecting to see for some time.  It was a place of singular beauty.  A dozen immense rocks had fallen from the cliff on the left, almost completely blocking the channel—­or so it seemed from one point of view.  But there was a crooked channel, not more than twelve wide in places, through which the water shot like a stream from a nozzle.

We wanted a motion picture of our dash through the chute.  But the location for the camera was hard to secure, for a sheer bank of rock or low wall prevented us from climbing out on the right side.  We overcame this by landing on a little bank at the base of the wall and by dropping a boat down with a line to the head of the rapid where a break occurred in the wall.  Jimmy was left with the camera, the boat was pulled back, and we prepared to run the rapid.