Among these parties who had made short trips on the river was one composed of two men.  Phil Foote was a gambler, stage robber, and bad man in general.  He had broken out of jail in Salt Lake City and, accompanied by another of similar character, stole a boat at Green River, Utah, and proceeded down the river.  Soon after entering Cataract Canyon, they lost their boat and provisions.  Finding a tent which had been washed down the river, they tore it into strips and constructed a raft out driftwood, tying the logs together with the strips of canvas.  Days of hardship followed, and starvation stared them in the face; until finally Foote’s partner gave up, said he would drown himself.  With an oath Foote drew his revolver, saying he had enough of such cowardice and would save him the trouble.  His companion then begged for his life, saying he would stick to the end, and they finally got through to the Hite ranch, which lay a short distance below.  They were taken care of here, and terminated their voyage a short distance beyond, going out over land.  Foote was afterwards shot and killed while holding up a stage in Nevada.

The Hite ranch also proved to be a place of refuge for others, the sole survivors of two other parties who were wrecked, one person escaping on each occasion.  Hite’s ranch, and Lee’s Ferry, 140 miles below Hite, had mail service.  We had left instructions at the post-office to forward our mail to one or the other of these points.  These were also the only places on our 425-mile run to Bright Angel Trail where we could expect to see any people, so we were informed.  We were about to descend into what is, possibly, the least inhabited portion of the United States of America.

A party of civil engineers working here, joined us that evening at Wolverton’s home.  A young man in the party asked us if we would consent to carry a letter through with us and mail it at our destination.  He thought it would be an interesting souvenir for the person to whom it was addressed.  We agreed to do our best, but would not guarantee delivery.  The next morning two letters were given us to mail, and were accepted with this one reservation.  Before leaving Mr. Wolverton showed us his motor boat with much pardonable pride.  On this boat he sometimes took small parties down to the beginning of the Colorado River, and up the Grand, a round trip of three hundred miles or more.  The boat had never been taken down the Colorado for the simple reason that the rapids began almost immediately below the junction.

Wolverton, while he had never been through the rapids in a boat, had followed the river on foot for several miles and was thoroughly familiar with their nature.  On parting he remarked,

“Well, boys, you are going to tackle a mighty hard proposition, but I’m sure you can make it if you are only careful.  But look out and go easy.”

Wolverton was no novice, speaking from much experience in bad water, and we were greatly impressed by what he had to say.