As we had anticipated, there was no mail for us, so we turned to inspect the mail carrier.  He was a splendid specimen of the Navajo Indian,—­a wrestler of note amoung his people, we were told,—­large and muscular, and with a peculiar springy, slouchy walk that gave one the impression of great reserve strength.  He had ridden that day from Tuba, an agency on their reservation, about seventy miles distant.  This was the first sign of an Indian that we had seen in this section, although we had been travelling along the northern boundary of their reservation since leaving the mouth of the San Juan.  These Indians have no use for the river, being children of the desert, rather than of the water.  Beyond an occasional crossing and swimming their horses at easy fords, they make no attempt at its navigation, even in the quiet water of Glen Canyon.

Some of the men showed this Indian our boats, and told him of our journey.  He smiled, and shrugged his massive shoulders as much as to say, he “would believe it when he saw it.”  He had an opportunity to see us start, at least, on the following morning.

Before leaving, we climbed a 300-foot mound on the left bank of the Paria River, directly opposite the Lee ranch.  This mound is known as Lee’s Lookout.  Whether used by Lee or not, it had certainly served that purpose at some time.  A circular wall of rock was built on top the mound, and commanded an excellent view of all the approaches to the junction of the rivers.  This spot is of particular interest to the geologist, for a great fault, indicated by the Vermilion Cliffs, marks the division between Glen Canyon and Marble Canyon.  This line of cliffs extends to the south for many miles across the Painted Desert, and north into Utah for even a greater distance, varying in height from two hundred feet at the southern end to as many thousand feet in some places to the north.  Looking to the west, we could see that here was another of those sloping uplifts of rock, with the river cutting down, increasing the depth of the canyon with every mile.

We had now descended about 2900 feet since leaving Green River City, Wyoming, not a very great fall for the distance travelled if an average is taken, but a considerable portion of the distance was on quiet water, as we have noted, with a fall of a foot or two to the mile, and with alternate sections only containing bad water.  We were still at an elevation of 3170 feet above the sea-level, and in the 283 miles of canyon ahead of us—­Marble Canyon and the Grand Canyon combined—­the river descends 2330 feet, almost a continuous series of rapids from this point to the end of the Grand Canyon.

After a hasty survey from our vantage point, we returned to the river and prepared to embark.  As we left the dredge, the work was closed down for a few minutes, and the entire crowd of men, about forty in number, stood on an elevation to watch us run the first rapid.  The Indian had crossed to the south side of the to feed his horse and caught a glimpse of us as we went past him.  Running pell-mell down to his boat, he crossed the river and joined the group on the bank.  About this time we were in the grip of the first rapid, a long splashy one, with no danger whatever, but large enough to keep us busy until we had passed from view.