AT THE SIDE OF THE COLORADO. 125 
into the depths of the canon. And now Captain Bishop has kindled a huge 
fire of driftwood, on the bank of the river. This, and the fires in the gulch 
opposite, and. our own flaming torches, light up little patches, that make 
more manifest the awful darkness below. Still, on we go, for an hour or 
two, and at last we see Captain Bishop coming up the gulch, with a huge 
torch-light on his shoulders. He looks like a fiend, waving brands and light 
ing the fires of hell, and the men in the opposite gulch are imps, lighting 
delusive fires in inaccessible crevices, over yawning chasms; our own little 
Indian is surely the king of wizards, so I think, as I stop for a few moments 
on a rock to rest. At last we meet Captain Bishop, with his flaming torch, 
and, as he has learned the way, he soon pilots us to the side of the great 
Colorado. We are hungry and athirst, almost- to starvation. Here we lie 
down on the rocks and drink, just a mouthful or so, as we dare; then we 
make a cup of coffee, and, spreading our blankets on a sand beach, the 
roaring Colorado lulls us to sleep. 
September 18. We are in the Grand Canon, by the side of the Col 
orado, more than six thousand feet below our camp on the mountain side, 
which is eighteen miles away; but the miles of horizontal distance represent 
but a small part of the days' labor before us. It is the mile of altitude we 
must gain that makes it a herculean task. We are up early; a little bread 
and coffee, and we look about us. Our conclusion is, that we can make 
this a deJDot of supplies, should it be necessary; that we can pack our rations 
to the point where we left our animals last night, and that we can employ 
Indians to bring them down to the water's edge. 
On a broad shelf, we find the ruins of an old stone house, the walls of 
which are broken down, and we can see where the ancient people who lived 
here a race more highly civilized than the present had made a garden, 
and used a great spring, that comes out of the rocks, for irrigation. On 
some rocks near by we discover some curious etchings. Still, searching 
about, we find an obscure trail up the canon wall, marked, here and there, 
by steps which have been built in the loose rock, elsewhere hewn stairways, 
and we find a much easier way to go up than that by which we came down 
in the darkness last night. Coming to the top of the wall, we catch our 
horses, and start. Up the canon our jaded ponies toil, and we reach the 
