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 passed 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 shore, 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 passing 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.