ask. We are up early_;_
a little bread and coffee, and we look about us. Our conclusion is that
we can make this a depot of supplies, should it be necessary; that we
can pack our rations to the point where we left our animals last night,
and that we can employ Indians to bring them down to the water's edge.

On a broad shelf we find the ruins of an old stone house, the walls of
which are broken down, and we can see where the ancient people who lived
here--a race more highly civilized than the present--had made a garden
and used a great spring that comes out of the rocks for irrigation. On
some rocks near by we discover some curious etchings. Still searching
about, we find an obscure trail up the canyon wall, marked here and
there by steps which have been built in the loose rock, elsewhere hewn
stairways, and we find a much easier way to go up than that by which we
came down in the darkness last night. Coming to the top of the wall, we
catch our horses and start. Up the canyon our jaded ponies toil and we
reach the second cliff; up this we go, by easy stages, leading the
animals. Now we reach the offensive water pocket; our ponies have had no
water for thirty hours, and are eager even for this foul fluid. We
carefully strain a kettleful for ourselves, then divide what is left
between them--two or three gallons for each; but it does not satisfy
them, and they rage around, refusing to eat the scanty grass. We boil
our kettle of water, and skim it; straining, boiling, and skimming make
it a little better, for it was full of loathsome, wriggling larvae, with
huge black heads. But plenty of coffee takes away the bad smell, and so
modifies the taste that most of us can drink, though our little Indian
seems to prefer the original mixture. We reach camp about sunset, and
are glad to rest.

_September 19._--We are tired and sore, and must rest a day with our
Indian neighbors. During the inclement season they live in shelters made
of boughs or the bark of the cedar, which they strip off in long shreds.
In this climate, most of the year is dry and warm, and during such time
they do not care for shelter. Clearing a small, circular space of
ground, they bank it around with brush and sand, and wallow in it during
the day and huddle together in a heap at night--men, women, and
children; buckskin, rags, and sand. They wear very little clothing, not
needing much in this lovely climate.

Altogether, these Indians are more nearly in thei