hing
burned and hair singed, and Bradley has his ears scorched. The cook
fills his arms with the mess-kit, and jumping into a boat, stumbles and
falls, and away go our cooking utensils into the river. Our plates are
gone; our spoons are gone; our knives and forks are gone. "Water catch
'em; h-e-a-p catch 'em."

When on the boats, the men are compelled to cut loose, as the flames,
running out on the overhanging willows, are scorching them. Loose on the
stream, they must go down, for the water is too swift to make headway
against it. Just below is a rapid, filled with rocks. On the shoot, no
channel explored, no signal to guide them! Just at this juncture I
chance to see them, but have not yet discovered the fire, and the
strange movements of the men fill me with astonishment. Down the rocks I
clamber, and run to the bank. When I arrive they have landed. Then we
all go back to the late camp to see if anything left behind can be
saved. Some of the clothing and bedding taken out of the boats is found,
also a few tin cups, basins, and a camp kettle; and this is all the
mess-kit we now have. Yet we do just as well as ever.

_June 17._--We run down to the mouth of Yampa River. This has been a
chapter of disasters and toils, notwithstanding which the Canyon of
Lodore was not devoid of scenic interest, even beyond the power
of pen to tell. The roar of its waters was heard unceasingly from the
hour we entered it until we landed here. No quiet in all that time. But
its walls and cliffs, its peaks and crags, its amphitheaters and
alcoves, tell a story of beauty and grandeur that I hear yet--and shall
hear.

The Canyon of Lodore is 20 3/4 miles in length. It starts abruptly at
what we have called the Gate of Lodore, with walls nearly 2,000 feet
high, and they are never lower than this until we reach Alcove Brook,
about three miles above the foot. They are very irregular, standing in
vertical or overhanging cliffs in places, terraced in others, or
receding in steep slopes, and are broken by many side gulches and
canyons. The highest point on the wall is at Dunn's Cliff, near Triplet
Falls, where the rocks reach an altitude of 2,700 feet, but the peaks a
little way back rise nearly 1,000 feet higher. Yellow pines, nut pines,
firs, and cedars stand in extensive forests on the Uinta Mountains, and,
clinging to the rocks and growing in the crevices, come down the walls
to the water's edge from Flaming Gorge to Echo Park. The red sands