THE GRAND CANON 



and one thousand feet higher, we enjoyed 

 another storm of equal glory as to cloud effects, 

 though only a few inches of snow fell. Before 

 the storm began we had a magnificent view 

 of this grander upper part of the canon and 

 also of the Coconino Forest and the Painted 

 Desert. The march of the clouds with their 

 storm banners flying over this sublime land 

 scape was unspeakably glorious, and so also 

 was the breaking up of the storm next morn 

 ing the mingling of silver-capped rock, sun 

 shine, and cloud. 



Most tourists make out to be in a hurry 

 even here; therefore their days or hours would 

 be best spent on the promontories nearest the 

 hotel. Yet a surprising number go down the 

 Bright Angel Trail to the brink of the inner 

 gloomy granite gorge overlooking the river. 

 Deep canons attract like high mountains; the 

 deeper they are, the more surely are we drawn 

 into them. On foot, of course, there is no dan 

 ger whatever, and, with ordinary precautions, 

 but little on animals. In comfortable tourist 

 faith, unthinking, unfearing, down go men, 

 women, and children on whatever is offered, 

 horse, mule, or burro, as if saying with Jean 

 Paul, &quot;fear nothing but fear&quot; not without 

 reason, for these canon trails down the stair 

 ways of the gods are less dangerous than they 



