to call the canyon Craggy or Split-Mountain.  The latter was decided on, as the river has sawed in two a huge fold of the strata—­a mountain split in twain.  When we entered it with our boats to again descend, we had gone but a little distance before massive beds of solid rock came up straight out of the water on both sides and we were instantly sailing in a deep, narrow canyon, the beds at length arching over, down stream, high above our heads.  It was an extraordinary sight.  While we were looking at the section of the great fold, we discovered some mountain sheep far up the rocks.  Though we fired at them the circumstances were against our hitting, and they scampered scornfully away from crag to crag, out of our sight.  Then the canyon widened at the top, and at the same time rapids appeared.  They came by dozens, but there were none that we could not master with certainty by hard work.  Wet from head to foot we continued this labour for three days, and then the rocks, the “Ribbon Beds,” turned over and disappeared beneath the water just as they had come out of it above.  The low stage of the river made this canyon difficult, so far as exertion was concerned, and the rapids would perhaps be far easier during the spring flood.

We were now in Wonsits Valley, the longest expansion of the walls above Black Canyon.  Near our camp, which was on a soft, grassy bank beside smooth-flowing waters, some picture writings were found, the first indications, since the wreckage at Disaster Falls, outside of occasional signs of Powell’s other party, that human beings had ever been in the country.  The tail-piece at the end of the preface to this volume is a reduction of a drawing I made of the largest figure, which was about four feet high.  The river now flowed gently between low banks covered in many places with cottonwoods, and it required hard labour of a different kind to get the boats along.  Signs of Utes began to appear, and one morning a fine fellow, gaily dressed, and mounted on a splendid horse, rode into camp with a “How—­how!” Farther on we came to him again, with his squaw, a good-looking young woman, very well dressed in a sort of navy blue flannel, and wearing numerous ornaments.  We ferried them across the river, and afterwards found they were runaways from White River,—­an elopement in reality.

After a good deal of hard rowing we finally reached the mouth of the Uinta.  Thompson went up to the Agency, about forty miles away, and found that Powell had gone out to Salt Lake.  When the latter came back to the Agency it was to direct Thompson to go on with our party, while Powell went out again to see about the ration-supply at the mouth of the Dirty Devil.  The men sent there had been unable to find the place, or, indeed, to get anywhere near it.  Powell was to meet us again at the foot of Gray Canyon, about one hundred and fifty miles farther down.  When our supplies had been brought from the Agency and all was ready, we proceeded on our way, passing