a boy's. A
coat was left on the shore. The tracks disappeared up a box canyon.
Mr. Stone corresponded with the only settlements in all that region,
few in number, and far distant; but nothing was ever heard of them,
Two other parties have left Green River, Utah, within a year of this
find and disappeared in like manner. This seemed to be the usual
result of these attempts. In nearly every case they have started in
boats that are entirely unfitted for rough water, and, seemingly
without any knowledge of the real danger ahead, try to follow where
others, properly equipped, have gone through.

What a day of excitement that was! We always thought we needed a
certain amount of thrills to make life sufficiently interesting for
us. In a few hours' time, in the central portion of Cataract Canyon,
we experienced nearly enough thrills to last us a lifetime. In one or
two of the upper canyons we thought we were running rapids. Now we
were learning what rapids really were. No sooner were we through one
than another presented itself. At each of them we climbed along the
boulder-strewn shores--the lower slopes growing steeper, the walls
above towering higher--clear to the end of the rapid. Looking upstream
we could pick out the submerged rocks hidden in the muddy water, and
looking like an innocent wave from above. Twice we had picked out
channels in sharp drops, after carefully observing their actions and
deciding they were free from obstructions, when suddenly the waves
would part for an instant and disclose a hidden rock--in one case as
sharp as a hound's tooth--sure disaster if we ever struck it. As soon
as we had decided on a channel we would lose no time in getting back
to our boats and running it for we could feel our courage oozing from
our finger tips with each second's delay. Time and again we got
through just by a scratch. Success bred confidence; I distinctly
remember feeling that water alone would not upset the boat; that it
would take a collision with a rock to do it. And each time we got
through. Twice I almost had reason to reverse my impression of the
power of water. First the stern rose up in front of me, as if squaring
off at the tops of the cliffs, then descended, until it seemed to be
trying to plumb the depths of the river. The waves, rolling over me,
almost knocked me out of the boat, I lost my hold on the oars and
grabbed the sides of the boat; then, regaining the oars, I finished
the run by pulling with the