away goes our train of lumber, rations, and camping equipage.
The Indian trail is at the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs. Pushing on to
the east with Mr. Hamblin for a couple of hours in the early morning, we
reach the mouth of a dry canyon, which comes down through the cliffs.
Instead of a narrow canyon we find an open valley from one fourth to one
half a mile in width. On rare occasions a stream flows down this valley,
but now sand dunes stretch across it. On either side there is a wall of
vertical rock of orange sandstone, and here and there at the foot of the
wall are found springs that afford sweet water.

We push our way far up the valley to the foot of the Gray Cliffs, and by
a long detour find our way to the summit. Here again we find that
wonderful scenery of naked white rocks carved into great round bosses
and domes. Looking off to the north we can see vermilion and pink
cliffs, crowned with forests, while below us to the south stretch the
dunes and red-lands of the Vermilion Cliff region, and far away we can
see the opposite wall of the Grand Canyon. In the middle of the
afternoon we descend into the canyon valley and hurriedly ride, down to
the mouth of the canyon, then follow the trail of the pack train, for
we are to camp with the party to-night. We find it at the Navajo Well.
As we approach in the darkness the camp fire is a cheerful sight. The
Navajo Well is a pool in the sand, the sands themselves lying in a
basin, with naked, smooth rocks all about on which the rains are caught
and by which the sand in the basin is filled with water, and by digging
into the sand this sweet water is found.

_September 25._--At sunrise Mr. Hamblin and I part from the train once
more, taking with us Chuar, a chief of the Kaibabits, for a trip to the
south, for one more view of the Grand Canyon from the summit of the
Kaibab Plateau. All day long our way is over red hills, with a bold line
of cliffs on our left. A little after noon we reach a great spring, and
here we are to camp for the night, for the region beyond us is unknown
and we wish to enter it with a good day before us. The Indian goes out
to hunt a rabbit for supper, and Hamblin and I climb the cliffs. From an
elevation of 1,800 feet above the spring we watch the sun go down and
see the sheen on the Vermilion Cliffs and red-lands slowly fade into the
gloaming; then we descend to supper.

_September 26.--_Early in the morning we pass up a beautiful valley to
the s