338 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



must wait. The sun had long set, but a carmine stain 

 still lingered, merging into clear beryl green, and 

 that shading to tender purple in which a half moon 

 stood vertical and the stars were taking station. 

 Three cranes rose with sudden clatter and flew 

 slowly down stream, their shadows flickering on 

 the calm water which swept past in a broad sheet of 

 palest green streaked with crimson. I was glad to 

 have time for this to stamp itself upon my mind as 

 my parting impression of the Rio Colorado. 



The odors of bean-frying and biscuit-baking that 

 came with our ferryman were well calculated to re- 

 place sentimentality with thoughts of supper. We 

 crossed, I waved adieu to Arizona, and watched 

 the boat slip mystically away into the gloom. A 

 five-mile gallop through moonlight and mosquitoes 

 brought us again to Blythe, which had suddenly 

 burst into bunting in readiness for Mexico's Inde- 

 pendence Day on the morrow. 



