, foaming raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took its
final leap into a blue abyss, and then found its way to the Colorado,
hidden underground.

The flower-scented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted long
after the valley lay behind and above, but these failed at length in the
close air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stones
cracked like deep bell-strokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollow
sound and echo. Silvermane clattered down the easy trail at a gait which
urged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upon
a plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the red
Colorado, sullen-voiced, booming, never silent nor restful. Here were
distances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of the
canyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesas
that dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was bare rock of many hues burning
under the sun.

"Jack, this is mescal," said the girl, pointing to some towering plants.

All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding in
spiral leaves as they shot upward and bursting at the top into plumes of
yellow flowers. The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black bees
circled round them.

"Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from which
you're named. It's beautiful."

Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight by
a stream of bees pouring with angry buzz from the hollow centre. Two big
fellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat.

"You shouldn't despoil their homes," said Mescal, with a peal of
laughter.

"I'll break another stalk and get stung, if you'll laugh again," replied
Hare.

They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head
of a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard that
Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a
level, they passed out to rounded sand and the river.

"It's a little high," said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like the
looks of those rapids."

Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the
current was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, the
river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth
curve suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. Below
Hare was a smaller rapid where the broken water turned toward the neare