that it makes of wildiiess and primeval eliaraet-r. To 

 the east and south, with an amazing exhibition of ancient 

 volcanism in between, the Colorado River — seeming a 

 mere thread in that vast landscape — lies sunk and inac- 

 cessible in its mile-deep canyon. To the west lies Nevada, 

 sterile for lack of moisture, robbed by the Sierras; to 

 the north, that remarkable interior valley of the Utah 

 Basin, whose waters, like those of the Jordan, never 

 reach the sea. 



It is a region of strange contrasts of sterility and life 

 in the plant world. The land that water reaches blossoms 

 like a garden; what water fails to reach is desert. 



Soon after I and my companions on the journey left 

 Kanab that August afternoon we feasted — not wisely but 

 too well upon my part — at invitation of the owner on 

 watermelons growing in an irrigated garden that our 

 way led past; for we were "travellers in a thirsty land.'' 

 Later we rode on, through dusk at first and then through 

 a wonderful moonlight which lighted up long plumes of 

 silver sage on either side our trail, to an old Mormon 

 fort and place of springs, where we threw our bedding 

 on the ground and slept. 



Soon after dawn we rode away again across the plains 

 and on till noon, without meeting anyone or seeing any 

 trace of human habitation. At noon we reached a wide, 

 shallow pool, thirty or forty acres in extent — a gathered 

 run- off of the spring-time rains — one part of which as 

 we rode down toward it appeared blood-red by reflection 

 from the neighboring Vermilion Cliffs; the other, blue, 

 in shari) contrast, from the sky. In this, wild range-cattle 

 stood, knee-deep, drinking and cooling themselves. 



There we lunched in the shadow of the canvas-covered 

 ''Prairie Schooner" which carried our su])])lies; then 

 mounted and rode on. The way was long ahead, and the 

 horses were urged on at a jog trot. Presently I dropped 

 behind with what seemed at the moment but a touch of 



5 



