Then our thoughts reverted to Smith.  What would he do when he came to this rapid?  The only escape was a narrow sloping ledge on the right side, beginning close to the water some distance above the rapid, reaching a height of sixty or seventy feet above the water at the lower end, while a descent could be made to the river some distance below here.  It would be possible for him to climb over this with his provisions, but the idea of taking his boat up there was entirely out of the question, and, poorly equipped as he was, an attempt to run it would surely end in disaster.  The breaking of an oar, the loss of a rowlock, or the slightest knock of his rotten boat against a rock, and Smith’s fate would be similar to those others whose bones lay buried in the sands.

In the next four miles we had no more rapids, but had some fine travelling on a very swift river.  It was getting dusk, but we pulled away, for just ahead of us was the end of Cataract Canyon.  We camped by a large side canyon on the left named Mille Crag Bend, with a great number of jagged pinnacles gathered in a group at the top of the walls, which had dropped down to a height of about 1300 feet.  We felt just a little proud of our achievement, and believed we had established a record for Cataract Canyon, having run all rapids in four days’ travelling, and come through in safety.

We had one rapid to run the next morning at the beginning of Narrow Canyon, the only rapid in this nine-mile long canyon.  The walls here at the beginning were twelve or thirteen hundred feet high, and tapered to the end, where they rise about four hundred feet above the Dirty Devil River.  Narrow Canyon contains the longest straight stretch of river which we remembered having seen.  When five miles from its mouth we could look through and see the snow-capped peak of Mt.  Ellsworth beyond.  This peak is one of the five that composes the Henry Mountains, which lay to the north of the river.

Three hours’ rowing brought us to the end.  We paused a few minutes to make a picture or two of the Dirty Devil River,—­or the Fremont River as it is now recorded on the maps.  This stream, flowing from the north, was the exact opposite of the Bright Angel Creek, that beautiful stream we knew so well, two hundred and fifty miles below this point.  The Dirty Devil was muddy and alkaline, while warm springs containing sulphur and other minerals added to its unpalatable taste.  After tasting it we could well understand the feeling of the Jack Sumner, whose remark, after a similar trial, suggested its name to Major Powell.

A short distance below this we saw a tent, and found it occupied by an old-timer named Kimball.  Among other things he told us that he had a partner, named Turner, who had made the trip through the canyons above, and arrived at this point in safety.  This was the man whose name we had seen on the walls in Cataract Canyon.  Less than two miles more brought us to the Hite ranch, and post-office.  John Hite