the Green. The waters of the two came together
with a good deal of a rush, the commingling being
plainly visible. Neither overwhelmed the other;
it was a perfect union, and in some respects it is
quite appropriate that the combined waters of these
streams should have a special name to represent them.
The new tributary was Grand River, and when our boats
floated on the united waters, we were at last on the
back of the Dragon. Away sped the current of
the Colorado, swirling along, spitefully lashing with
its hungry tongue the narrow sand-banks fringing the
rugged shores, so that we scarcely knew where to make
a landing. Finally we halted on the right, constantly
watching the boats’ lines lest the sand should
melt away and take our little ships with it. Along
the bases of the cliffs above the high waters were
narrow strips of rocky soil, supporting a few stunted
cottonwoods and hackberry trees, which, with some
stramonium bushes in blossom, were the sum total of
vegetation. In every way the Junction is a desolate
place. It is the beginning of Cataract Canyon,
and forty-one miles must be put behind us before we
would see its end—forty-one miles of bad
river, too. From a point not far up the Green,
which we easily reached with a boat, a number climbed
out by means of a cleft about fifty feet wide, taking
the photographic outfit along. The country above
was a maze of crevices, pinnacles, and buttes, and
it seemed an impossibility for any human being to
travel more than a few hundred yards in any direction.
The character of the place may best be illustrated
by stating that Steward, who had gone up by a different
route, was unable to reach us, though we could talk
to him across a fissure. Many of these breaks
could be jumped, but some of them were too wide for
safety. The surface was largely barren sandstone,
only a patch of sand here and there sustaining sometimes
a bush or stunted cedar. It is the Land of Standing
Rocks, as the Utes call it.
The supplies were now gone over and carefully and
evenly divided, so that an accident to one boat should
not cripple us any more than possible, and on Tuesday,
the 19th of September, our bows were headed down the
Colorado. A few miles below the Junction, a trail
was seen coming down a canyon on the left, showing
that the Utes have always known how to find the place.
If Macomb had been properly guided he could have reached
it. The familiar roar of rapids soon came to our
ears, and thenceforth there was no respite from them.
The first was so ugly that the boats were lowered
by lines, the second was much the same, and then we
reached a third which was even worse. The water
was now growing cold, and as one’s clothes are
always wet when running rapids or portaging on the
Colorado, we felt the effects of the deep shadows,
combined with the cold drenchings. Our dinners
were quickly prepared, for we were on allowance and
Andy was not bothered with trying to satisfy our appetites;
he cooked as much as directed, and if there were hungry