MOUTH OF THE COLOEADO CHIQUITO. 77 
It is a peculiar feature of these walls, that many projections are set out 
into the river, as if the wall was buttressed for support. The walls them 
selves are half a mile high, and these buttresses are on a corresponding 
scale, jutting into the river scores of feet. In the recesses between these 
projections there are quiet bays,^except at the foot of a rapid, when they 
are dancing eddies or whirlpools. Sometimes these alcoves have caves at 
the back, giving them the appearance of great depth. Then other caves 
are seen above, forming vast, dome shaped chambers. The walls, and but 
tresses, and chambers are all of marble. 
The river is now quiet ; the canon wider. Above, when the river is at 
its flood, the waters gorge up, so that the difference between high and low 
water mark is often fifty or even seventy feet ; but here, high- water mark 
is not more than twenty feet above the present stage of' the river. Some 
times there is a narrow flood plain between the water and the wall. 
Here we first discover mesquite shrubs, or small trees, with finely 
divided leaves and pods, somewhat like the locust. 
August 10. Walls still higher; water, swift again. We pass several 
broad, ragged canons on our right, and up through these we catch glimpses 
of a forest clad plateau, miles away to the west. 
At two o'clock, we reach the mouth of the Colorado Chiquito. This 
stream enters through a canon, on a scale quite as grand as that of the 
Colorado itself. It is a very small river, and exceedingly muddy and salt. 
I walk up the stream three or four miles, this afternoon, crossing and 
recrossing where I can easily wade it. Then I climb several hundred feet 
at one place, and can see up the chasm, through which the river runs, for 
several miles. On my way back, I kill two rattlesnakes, and find, on my 
arrival, that another has been killed just at camp. 
August 11. We remain at this point to day for the purpose of deter 
mining the latitude and longitude, measuring the height of the walls, drying 
our rations, and repairing our boats. 
Captain Powell, early in the morning, takes a barometer, and goes out 
to climb a point between the two rivers. 
I walk down the gorge to the left at the foot of the cliff, climb to a 
bench, and discover a trail, deeply worn in the rock. Where it crosses the 
