COLORADO PLATEAU, NEAR BIG CANON—CATARACT CANON. 107 
around, and then commenced to re-perform the hazardous journey. The sun shone directly into 
the cafion, and the glare reflected from the walls made the heat intolerable. The disappointed 
beasts, now two days without water, with glassy eyes and protruding tongues, plodded slowly 
along, uttering the most melancholy cries. The nearest water, of which we had knowledge, 
was almost thirty miles distant. There was but one chance of saving the train, and after 
reaching an open portion of the ravine the packs and the saddles were removed, and two or 
three Mexicans started for the lagoons mounted upon the least exhausted animals, and driving 
the others loose before them. It was somewhat dangerous to detach them thus far from the 
main party, but there was no help for it. Some of the mules will doubtless give out before the 
night march is over, but the knowledge that they are on their way to water will enable most of 
them to reach it in spite of their weariness and the length of the way. 
I gave directions to the Mexican not to return for a couple of days. This will give the 
beasts time to rest, and afford us an opportunity of exploring the trail beyond the precipice, 
where we had to stop. Several caiions head near us, all leading into the mighty avenue which 
forms the main water-way. Each branch has its subordinate tributaries, that interlock with 
one another, and cut away more than half of the original plateau. 
Camp 73, Colorado plateau, April 14.—Lieutenant Tipton, Mr. Eglofistein, Mr. Peacock, and 
myself, with a dozen men, formed the party to explore the cafion. It was about five miles to 
the precipice. The de-cent of the latter was accomplished without serious trouble. In one 
or two places the path traversed smooth inclined ledges, where the insecure footing made the 
crossing dangerous. The bottom of the cafion, which from the summit looked smooth, was 
covered with hills, thirty or forty feet high. Along the centre we were surprised to find an 
inner cafion, a kind of under cellar, with low walls at the starting point, which were soon con- 
verted into lofty precipices, as the base of the ravine sank deeper and deeper into the earth. 
Along the bottom of this gorge we followed the trail, distinctly seen when the surface was not 
covered with rocks. Every few moments, low falls and ledges, which we had to jump or slide 
down, were met with, till there had accumulated a formidable number of obstacles to be en- 
countered in returning.. Like other cafions, it was circuitous, and at each turn we were impatient 
to find something novel or interesting. We were deeper in the bowels of the earth than we 
had ever been before, and surrounded by walls and towers of such imposing dimensions that it 
would be useless to attempt describing them; but the effects of magnitude had begun to pall, 
and the walk from the foot of the precipice was monotonously dull; no sign of life could be 
discerned above or below. At the end’of thirteen miles from the precipice an obstacle presented 
itself that there seemed to be no possibility of overcoming. A stone slab, reaching from one 
side of the caiion to the other, terminated the plane which we were descending. Looking over 
the edge it appeared that the next level was forty feet below. This time there was no trai] 
along the side bluffs, for these were smooth and perpendicular. A spring of water rose from 
the bed of the cafion not far wbove, and trickled over the ledge, forming a pretty cascade. It 
was supposed that the Indians must have come to this point merely to procure water, but this 
theory was not altogether satisfactory, and we sat down upon the rocks to discuss the matter. 
Mr. Eglofistein lay down by the side of the creek, and projecting his head over the ledge to 
watch the cascade, discovered a solution of the mystery. Below the shelving rock, and hidden 
by it and the fall, stood a crazy looking ladder, made of rough sticks bound together ‘ith thong 
of bark. It was almost perpendicular, and rested upon a bed of angular stones. The rounds 
had become rotten from the incessant flow of water. Mr. Egloffstein, anxious to have the first 
view of what was below, scrambled over the ledge and got his feet upon the upper round. Being 
a solid weight, he was too much for the insecure fabric, which commenced giving way. One 
side fortunately stood firm, and holding on to this with a tight grip, he made a precipitate 
descent. The other side and all the rounds broke loose and accompanied him to the bottom in 
