ing with Jean Paul, "fear nothing
but fear"--not without reason, for these canon trails down the stairways
of the gods are less dangerous than they seem, less dangerous than home
stairs. The guides are cautious, and so are the experienced, much-enduring
beasts. The scrawniest Rosinantes and wizened-rat mules cling hard to the
rocks endwise or sidewise, like lizards or ants. From terrace to terrace,
climate to climate, down one creeps in sun and shade, through gorge and
gully and grassy ravine, and, after a long scramble on foot, at last
beneath the mighty cliffs one comes to the grand, roaring river.

To the mountaineer the depth of the canon, from five thousand to six
thousand feet, will not seem so very wonderful, for he has often explored
others that are about as deep. But the most experienced will be awe-struck
but the vast extent of strange, countersunk scenery, the multitude of huge
rock monuments of painted masonry built up in regular courses towering
above, beneath, and round about him. By the Bright Angel trail the last
fifteen hundred feet of the descent to the river has to be made afoot down
the gorge of Indian Garden Creek. Most of the visitors do not like this
part, and are content to stop at the end of the horse-trail and look down
on the dull-brown flood from the edge of the Indian Garden Plateau. By the
new Hance trail, excepting a few daringly steep spots, you can ride all
the way to the river, where there is a good spacious camp-ground in a
mesquit-grove. This trail, built by brave Hance, begins on the highest
part of the rim, eight thousand feet above the sea, a thousand feet higher
than the head of Bright Angel trail, and the descent is a little over six
thousand feet, through a wonderful variety of climate and life. Often late
in the fall, when frosty winds are blowing and snow is flying at one end
of the trail, tender plants are blooming in balmy summer weather at the
other. The trip down and up can be made afoot easily in a day. In this
way one is free to observe the scenery and vegetation, instead of merely
clinging to his animal and watching its steps. But all who have time should
go prepared to camp awhile on the riverbank, to rest and learn something
about the plants and animals and the mighty flood roaring past. In cool,
shady amphitheaters at the head of the trail there are groves of white
silver fir and Douglas spruce, with ferns and saxifrages that recall snowy
mountains; below these, yellow