opposite our camp were exceedingly beautiful.  One was about two feet wide and the other five.  For one thousand feet they made a clear plunge, then vanished in spray, feathery and beautiful.  These rain cascades are a delightful feature of the country and some day will be famous.  Soon Millecrag Bend, marking the end of Cataract Canyon, came in sight.  The walls were only broken by a deep canyon valley coming in on the left, and the next canyon.  Narrow, then began, but it was not one with difficult waters, and, being only nine miles in length, we were soon through it.  At its foot was the mouth of the Dirty Devil and the beginning of Mound Canyon, which was later combined with Monument under the name of Glen.

Our rations were now very low.  For some time, each man had been allowed for a meal, only a thin slice of bacon, a chunk of bread about the size of one’s fist, and all the coffee he desired.  At long intervals a pot of Andy’s rare bean-soup was added to the feast.  It was necessary, therefore, to push on with all haste, or we would be starving.  The Canonita was consequently taken out and “cached” under a huge rock which had fallen against the cliff, forming a natural house.  Filling her with sand to keep her from “drying” to pieces we left her, feeling sure the party which was to come after her the next spring would find her safe.  She was forty feet above low water.  We now went ahead with good speed, leaving as much work as possible for the prospective Canonita party to perform.  All through Glen Canyon we found evidences of Puebloan occupation:  house ruins, storage caves, etc.  The river was tame, though the walls, about one thousand to sixteen hundred feet high, were beautiful, and often, in places, vertical.  The low stage of water rendered progress somewhat difficult at times, but nevertheless we made fairly good time and on the 5th of October passed the San Juan, a shallow stream at this season, entering through a wide canyon of about the same depth as that of the Colorado, that is, about twelve hundred or fourteen hundred feet.  A short distance below it we stopped at the Music Temple, where the Rowlands and Dunn had carved their names.  Reaching the vicinity of Navajo Mountain, Powell thought of climbing it, but an inquiry as to the state of the larder received from Andy the unpleasant information that we were down to the last of the supplies; two or three more scant meals would exhaust everything edible in the boats.  So no halt was made.  On the contrary, the oars were plied more vigorously, and on the 6th we saw a burned spot in the bushes on the right,—­there were alluvial bottoms in the bends,—­and though this burned spot was not food, it was an indication that there were human beings about; we hoped it indicated also our near approach to the Crossing of the Fathers.  Horses and men had recently been there.  Noon came and the surroundings were as silent, unbroken, untrodden as they had been anywhere above the burned spot.  Though there was little reason for it, we halted for a dinner camp, and Andy brought out a few last scraps for us to devour.  Hillers threw in a line baited with a small bit of bacon and pulled out a fish, then a second and several.  It was the miracle of the loaves and fishes over again!