tion and very ingenious. We found a
tunnel in the gravel a hundred feet above the river, and some distance
back from the river bank. A track of light rails ran from the river
bank to these workings; the gravel and sand was loaded into a car, and
hauled or pushed to the bank, then dumped into a chute, which sent it
down to the river's edge.

Loper was not at his work however, neither did we find him at his
ranch, a mile down the river. He had a neat little place, with fruit
trees and a garden, a horse or two, and some poultry. After resuming
our rowing, when about a mile down the river, some one called to us
from the shore, and Loper himself came running down to meet us. John
Hite had requested us to stop and see his brother, Cass Hite, who
owned a ranch and placer working nearly opposite where Loper had
halted us; so Loper crossed with us, as he was anxious to know of our
passage through the canyons.

We found, in Cass Hite, an interesting "old-timer," one who had
followed the crowd of miners and pioneers, in the West, since the
discovery of gold on the coast. He was the discoverer of the White
Canyon Natural Bridges, of Southern Utah, located between this point
and the San Juan River, and had been the first to open the ferry at
Dandy Crossings. Hite had prospected Navajo Mountain, southwest of
this point, in the early sixties, about the time of the Navajos'
trouble with the United States army, under the leadership of Kit
Carson, who dislodged them from their strongholds in the mountains
after many others had failed. Hite's life was saved on more than one
occasion by warnings from a friendly chief, or head man of the Western
Navajos, known as Hoskaninni, who regarded him as a brother, and
bestowed on him the name, Hosteen pes'laki, meaning "Silver man." He
is still known by this name, and refers to his pretty ranch as Tick a
Bo, a Ute word for "friendly." Hite proudly quoted a poem written by
Cy Warman about the theme of the Indian's regard for his white friend.
Warman had followed the crowd in to this spot at the time of the boom,
looking for local colour--human local colour, not the glitter in the
sands. It was at John Hite's home where Warman had composed the one
time popular song, "Sweet Marie." It would be safe to say that he
brought his inspiration with him, for this was decidedly a man's
country. We were told that it had only been visited by one woman in
the past twelve years. Hite insisted on our remaining unt