66 



THE DESERT 



You may see on the face of the globe numer- 

 ous muddy Missouris, blue Rhones, and yellow 

 Tibers ; but there is only one red river and that 

 the Colorado. It is not exactly an earthy red, 

 not the color of shale and clay mixed ; but the 

 red of peroxide of iron and copper, the sang-du- 

 bceuf red of oriental ceramics, the deep insistent 

 red of things time-worn beyond memory. And 

 there is more than a veneer about the color. It 

 has a depth that seems luminous and yet is sadly 

 deceptive. You do not see below the surface 

 no matter how long you gaze into it. As well 

 try to see through a stratum of porphyry as 

 through that water to the bottom of the river. 



To call it a river of blood would be exaggera- 

 tion, and yet the truth lies in the exaggeration. 

 As one walks along its crumbling banks there is 

 the thought of that other river that changed its 

 hue under the outstretched rod of the prophet. 

 How weird indeed must have been the ensan- 

 guined flow of the Nile, with its little waves 

 breaking in crests of pink foam ! How strange 

 the shores where the receding waters left upon 

 sand and rock a bordering line of scarlet froth ! 

 But the Colorado is not quite like that not 

 so ghastly, not so unearthly. It may suggest 

 at times the heavy welling flow of thickening 



