YUMA TO BLYTHE 323 



river yielded little variety. Now and then a platoon 

 of ducks flew up or down stream, or a heron or crane 

 rose and flapped slowly off to a new fishing-ground, 

 and often a covey of quail, caught unaware, scram- 

 bled with anxious chatter into the nearest thicket. 



A smoke-stack, like a steamer's funnel, on the 

 nearer bank, with nothing else of man's handiwork 

 in sight, marked Hoag's Landing, where a ferry is 

 supposed to ply, carrying an occasional passenger. I 

 saw neither boat nor boatman, and wonder to this 

 hour how long one might wait there for passage. 



A mile or two farther on we came to a discouraged 

 looking house and, after some search, a settler of 

 similar mien who leaned on the rickety bars of a 

 pasture that was occupied by a pair of burros. His 

 niggardly words and lack-lustre eye were not en- 

 gaging, and when I learned that there was another 

 settler six miles above, I forebore to suggest our re- 

 maining for the night, and we pursued our way. Be- 

 fore we reached the other place sunset had come. It 

 is surely by design of Providence that the refreshing 

 color-flood comes over the earth just at the hour 

 when otherwise man's spirit would tend to grovel. I 

 reined up and gazed my fill over the solitary scene, 

 now suddenly humanized by the magic of the eve- 

 ning light. The Colorado was no longer common- 

 place. 



Just above where a rocky island, known as Light- 

 house Rock, stood midway in the stream, I found 

 the ranch and a hearty welcome from the rancher. 

 He had lived in this isolated spot for many years, 

 usually quite alone, only at long intervals visited by 



