Green River a splendid red, yellow, and
clay-colored mountain loomed on the horizon, which as we neared the town
resolved itself into long lines of buttes back of the town. Teakettle
Rock, an immense, isolated butte, rose to the left, and Castle Rock was
just back of the town. The butte scenery both approaching and leaving
Green River was very fine. The coloring was extremely rich; soft reds,
yellows, browns, and clay colors. There were long lines of round
buttresses and great concavities of rock, more like the famous Causses
of southern France than anything I have ever seen.

We had luncheon at Green River in the spacious dining room of the Union
Pacific Station, and felt ourselves quite in touch with the East to be
eating in the same dining room with passengers of the long overland
train.

Our drive from Green River to Rock Springs and from Rock Springs to
Point of Rocks was through lonely, desert country. It was nearly six
o'clock when we reached Point of Rocks, but the sun was still high.
Point of Rocks is simply a watering station for the trains and is marked
only by a station house, a grocery, and a few little cottages. The young
groceryman has fitted up the rooms over his grocery for passing
travelers. We established ourselves in the front one, lighted by one
little window. It was very clean, though very simply furnished. The
floor was bare and our furniture consisted of a bed, a chair without a
back, a tin wash basin resting upon the chair, a lamp, a pail of fresh
water with a dipper, and a pail for waste water. We had two fresh towels
and felt ourselves rich in comfort. Next door to the grocery was a
little cottage where a woman cooked for the few railway operatives and
for travelers. Our bacon was somewhat salty and our coffee a little
weak, but our supper and breakfast tasted good for we had the sauce of
hunger. We met there a young railway operative who had come from the
East to this high, dry situation for the climate. He told us that when
he first came, the change to the stillness and space of the plain from
the busy city and from his life as a journalist was so great that he
could not keep still. He said that he walked fifteen miles a day,
driven by some inner restlessness; but that he gradually became used to
the quiet and now he loved it.

We had an evening talk in the grocery with a young commercial man, who
said laughingly that these accommodations were somewhat different from
the gorgeous Hotel St