single night a bar of this kind
will work upstream for a distance of several feet; then the sand will
be carried down with the current to lodge again in some quiet pool,
and again be carried on as before. This action gives rise to long
lines of regular waves or swells extending for some distance down the
stream. These are usually referred to as sand-waves. These waves
increase in size in high water; and the monotonous thump, thump of the
boat's bottom upon them is anything but pleasant, especially if one is
trying to make fast time.

So, with something new at every turn, we pulled lazily through Brown's
Park, shooting at ducks and geese when we came near them, snapping our
cameras when a picture presented itself, and observing the animal life
along the stream.

We stopped at one hay-ranch close to the Utah-Colorado line and
chatted awhile with the workers. A pleasant-faced woman named Mrs.
Chew asked us to deliver a message at a ranch a mile or two below.
Here also was the post-office of Lodore, Colorado, located a short
distance above the canyon of the same name. Mrs. Chew informed us that
they had another ranch at the lower end of Lodore Canyon and asked us
to look them up when we got through, remarking: "You may have trouble,
you know. Two of my sons once tried it. They lost their boat, had to
climb out, and nearly starved before they reached home."

The post-office at the ranch, found as described, without another home
in sight, was a welcome sight to us for several reasons. One reason
was that it afforded shelter from a heavy downpour of rain that
greeted us as we neared it, and a better reason still was, that it
gave us a chance to write and mail some letters to those who would be
most anxious to hear from us.

Among the messages we mailed was a picture post-card of Coney Island
at night. In some way this card had slipped between the leaves of a
book that I had brought from the East. I sent it out, addressed to a
friend who would understand the joke; writing underneath the picture,
"We have an abundance of such scenery here." The young woman who had
charge of the office looked at the card in amazement. It was evidently
something new to her. She told us she had never been to the railroad,
and that her brother took the mail out on horse-back to Steamboat,
Colorado, 140 miles distant.

The rain having ceased, we returned to our boats pausing to admire a
rainbow that arched above the canyon in the mountains, tow