It was too late to go any farther that evening, so we camped a hundred yards below him, close to where our boats were pulled out.  At this place there was a long, wide flat in the canyon, with plenty of driftwood, so we saw no reason why we should quarrel with our neighbour.  Smith accepted our invitation to supper, stating that he had just eaten before we arrived, but enjoyed some pineapple which we had kept for some special occasion, and which was served for dessert.

Over the table we became better acquainted, and, after learning what we were doing, he recounted his experiences.  He told us he had left Green River, Utah, a month before, and had been trapping as he came along.  He knew there was a canyon, and some rapids below, but had no idea they were so bad, and thought they were about ended.  No one had warned him, for he had told no one what he intended doing.  He had bought an old water-logged boat that had been built by Galloway, and seeing the uselessness of trying to run the rapids with it, worked it down along the shores by holding it with a light chain.  Once he had been pulled into the river, twice the boat had been upset, and he was just about dried out from the last spill when we arrived.  He had heard us shooting at the ducks, so rather expected company—­this in brief was his amazing story.

We were surprised when we examined the boat closely.  It had been well made, but was so old and rotten that it seemed ready to fall to pieces.  In places, the nail heads had pulled through the boards.  It was entirely open on top—­a great risk in such water.  His boxes were tied in to prevent loss.  These boxes were now piled on the shore, with a large canvas thrown over them.  This canvas, fastened at the top and sloping to the ground, served him for a tent; his bed was underneath.  A pair of high-topped boots, placed bottom up over two sticks, stuck in the sand beside the camp-fire, explained the different tracks we had seen above.

Smith evidently was not much alarmed over his situation.  About the only thing that seemed to bother him was the fact that his smoking tobacco had been wet several times.  That evening we got out our guide-book—­Dellenbaugh’s “A Canyon Voyage”—­and tried to give him an idea of what was ahead.  The walls ahead grew higher, and closer together; sometimes there was a shore on one side, sometimes on the other, at one or two places there was no shore on either side, and the rapids continued to get worse,—­so we gathered from Dellenbaugh’s experience.  Above this point there were several places where one could climb out,—­we had even seen signs of ancient trails in two side canyons,—­below here few such places existed.

Smith listened to all this attentively, then smiled and said “I guess there will be some way through.”  After a short visit he returned to his camp.  We noticed that he slept on his gun,—­to keep it dry, no doubt, for it looked like rain.