STEEP TRAILS 



dim and terrestrial in common gray haze; and 

 the rocks, after the manner of mountains, 

 seem to crouch and drowse and shrink to less 

 than half their real statiu-e, and have nothing 

 to say to one, as if not at home. But it is fine 

 to see how quickly they come to life and grow 

 radiant and communicative as soon as a band 

 of white clouds come floating by. As if shout- 

 ing for joy, they seem to spring up to meet 

 them in hearty salutation, eager to touch 

 them and beg their blessings. It is just in the 

 midst of these dull midday hours that the 

 canon clouds are born. 



A good storm-cloud full of lightning and rain 

 on its way to its work on a sunny desert day 

 is a glorious object. Across the caiion, oppo- 

 site the hotel, is a little tributary of the Colo- 

 rado called Bright Angel Creek. A fountain- 

 cloud still better deserves the name "Angel 

 of the Desert Wells" — clad in bright plum- 

 age, carrying cool shade and living water to 

 countless animals and plants ready to perish, 

 noble in form and gesture, seeming able for 

 anything, pouring life-giving, wonder-working 

 floods from its alabaster fountains, as if some 

 sky-lake had broken. To every gulch and 

 gorge on its favorite ground is given a passion- 

 ate torrent, roaring, replying to the rejoicing 

 lightning — stones, tons in weight, hurrying 



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