ves roar; but at this
distance and altitude the river is but a rippling brook, and the chasm a
narrow cleft. The top of the mountain on which we stand is a broad,
grassy table, and a herd of deer are feeding in the distance. Walking
over to the southeast, we look down into the valley of White River, and
beyond that see the far-distant Rocky Mountains, in mellow, perspective
haze, through which snow fields shine.

_June 25.--_This morning we enter Split Mountain Canyon, sailing in
through a broad, flaring, brilliant gateway. We run two or three rapids,
after they have been carefully examined. Then we have a series of six or
eight, over which we are compelled to pass by letting the boats down
with lines. This occupies the entire day, and we camp at night at the
mouth of a great cave. The cave is at the foot of one of these rapids,
and the waves dash in nearly to its end. We can pass along a little
shelf at the side until we reach the back part. Swallows have built
their nests in the ceiling, and they wheel in, chattering and scolding
at our intrusion; but their clamor is almost drowned by the noise of the
waters. Looking out of the cave, we can see, far up the river, a line of
crags standing sentinel on either side, and Mount Hawkins in the
distance.

_June 26._--The forenoon is spent in getting our large boats over the
rapids. This afternoon we find three falls in close succession. We carry
our rations over the rocks and let our boats shoot over the falls,
checking and bringing them to land with lines in the eddies below. At
three o'clock we are all aboard again. Down the river we are carried by
the swift waters at great speed, sheering around a rock now and then
with a timely stroke or two of the oars. At one point the river turns
from left to right, in a direction at right angles to the canyon, in a
long chute and strikes the right, where its waters are heaped up in
great billows that tumble back in breakers. We glide into the chute
before we see the danger, and it is too late to stop. Two or three hard
strokes are given on the right and we pause for an instant, expecting to
be dashed against the rock. But the bow of the boat leaps high on a
great wave, the rebounding waters hurl us back, and the peril is past.
The next moment the other boats are hurriedly signaled to land on the
left. Accomplishing this, the men walk along the shore, holding the
boats near the bank, and let them drift around. Starting again, we soon