112 EXPLORATION OF THE CANONS OF THE COLORADO. 
knew that the fire was not kindled by men, for no human being could scale 
the rocks. The Tu' -mu-ur-ru-gwait' -si-gaip, or Rock Rovers, had kindled a 
fire to deceive the people. In the Indian language this is called Tu'-mu-ur- 
ru-gwait' -sl-gaip Tu-weap' ', or Rock Rovers' Land. 
September 13. We start very early this morning, for we have a long 
day's travel before us. Our way is across the Rio Virgen to the south. 
Coming to the bank of the stream here, we find a strange metamorphosis. 
The streams we have seen above, running in narrow channels, leaping and 
plunging over the rocks, raging and roaring in their course, are here united, 
and spread in a thin sheet several hundred yards wide, and only a few inches 
deep, but running over a bed of quicksand. Crossing the stream, our trail 
leads up a narrow canon, not very deep, and then among the hills of golden, 
red, and purple shales and marls. Climbing out of the valley of the Rio 
Virgen, we pass through a forest of dwarf cedars, and come out at the foot 
of the Vermilion Cliffs. All day we follow this Indian trail toward the east, 
and at night camp at a great spring, known to the Indians as Yellow Rock 
Spring, but to the Mormons as Pipe Spring ; and near by there is a cabin 
in which some Mormon herders find shelter. Pipe Spring is a point just 
across the Utah line in Arizona, and we suppose it to be about sixty miles 
from the river. Here the Mormons design to build a fort another year, as 
an outpost for protection against the Indians. 
Here we discharge a number of the Indians, but take two with us for 
the purpose of showing us the springs, for they are very scarce, very small, 
and not easily found. Half a dozen are not known in a district of country 
large enough to make as many good sized counties in Illinois. There are 
no running streams, and these springs and water-pockets that is, holes in 
the rocks, which hold water from shower to shower are our only depend 
ence for this element. 
Starting, we leave behind a long line of cliffs, many hundred feet high, 
composed of orange and vermilion sandstones. I have named them "Ver 
milion Cliffs." When we are out a few miles, I look back, and see the 
morning sun shining in splendor on their painted faces; the salient angles 
are on fire, and the retreating angles are buried in shade, and I gaze on them 
until my vision dreams, and the cliffs appear a long bank of purple clouds, 
