Ouray, Utah, consisted of a large store to supply the wants of the Indians and ranchers, a small hotel, and a few dwellings. The agency proper was located some distance up the Uinta River, which stream emptied into the Green, just below Ouray.

Supper was taken at the hotel, after which we visited a young man in charge of the store, looking over his curios and listening to tales of his life here among these Indians. They were peaceable enough now, but in years gone by were a danger to be reckoned with. We slept in our own beds close to our boats by the river.

The following morning, when we were ready to leave, a small crowd gathered, a few Indians among them. Most of the Indians were big, fat, and sleepy-looking. Apparently they enjoyed the care of the government. A mile below we passed several squaws and numerous children under some trees, while on a high mound stood a lone buck Indian looking at us as we sped by, but without a single movement that we could see. He still stood there as we passed from sight a mile below. It might be interesting if one could know just what was in his mind as he watched us.

A mile below the Uinta River, which entered on the west, we passed another stream, the White River, entering from the east, the two streams adding considerable water to the Green River. We passed another idle dredge, also some mineral workings in tunnels, and saw two men camped on the shore beside them. We saw numerous Indian carvings on the rocks, but judged they were recent because horses figured in most of them. In all the open country the river was fringed with large cottonwood trees, alders and willow thickets. A number of islands followed, one of them very symmetrical in shape, with cottonwood trees in the centre, while around the edge ran a fringe of bushes looking almost like a trimmed hedge. The autumn colouring added to its beauty. The hedge, as we called it, was dark red, brown, yellow, and green; the cottonwoods were a light yellow. After we had passed this island, a deer, confused by our voices, jumped into the river fifty yards behind us, leaping and swimming as he made for the shore. We had no gun, but Emery had the moving-picture camera at hand, and turned it on the deer. The hour was late, however, and we had little hopes of its success as a picture. The country back from the river stretched in rolling, barren hills 200 or 300 feet high - a continuation of the Bad Lands of Utah, which lay off to the west.

With the next day's travel the hills lost some of their barren appearance. Some cattle were seen early in the afternoon of the following day. We passed a cattle man working at a ferry, who had just taken some stock across, which other men had driven on ahead. He was busy, so we did not interrupt him, merely calling to him from the boats, drifting meanwhile with the current. Soon we saw him riding down the shore and waited for him to catch up. He invited us to camp with him that evening, remarking that he had "just killed a beef." We thanked him, but declined, as it was early and we had only travelled a short distance that day. We chatted awhile, and he told us to look out for rapids ahead. He was rather surprised when he learned that we had started at Green River, Wyoming, and had already come through a few rapids.

"Where are you going to stop?" he then asked.

On being told that our destination was Needles, California, he threw up his hands with an expressive gesture, then added soberly, "Well, boys, I sure wish you luck," and rode back to his camp.

We had difficulty in making a suitable landing that evening, as the high water had deposited great quantities of black mud over everything, making it very disagreeable when we left the boats. We finally found a place with less mud to wade through than on most of the banks seen, and tied up to the roots of a tree.

While lying in our beds that night looking at the starlit sky - such a sky as is found only on these high plateaus - we discovered a comet directly above us. An astronomer would have enjoyed our opportunities for observing the heavens. No doubt this comet had been heralded far and wide, but we doubt if any one saw it to better advantage than did we.

Later, some coyotes, possibly in chase of a rabbit, gave vent to their yodeling cry, and awakened us from a sound sleep. They were in a little lateral canyon, which magnified and gave a weird, organ-like echo to their calls long after the coyotes themselves had passed from hearing.

The nights were getting warmer as we travelled south, but not so warm that we were bothered with insects. The same reason accounted for the absence of snakes or scorpions, for no doubt there were plenty of both in warm weather in this dry country. When there was no wind, the silence of the nights was impressive, with no sound save the lapping of the water against the banks. Sometimes a bird in the trees above would start up with a twitter, then quiet down again. On occasions the air chambers in our boats would contract on cooling off, making a noise like the boom of a distant gun, every little sound being magnified by the utter stillness of the night.

There were other times when it was not so quiet. Hundreds of birds, geese, ducks and mud-hens had been seen the last few days. Also there were occasional cranes and herons, over a thousand miles from their breeding place at the mouth of the Colorado. As dusk settled, we would see these birds abandon their feeding in the mud, and line up on the shore, or on an island, and go to sleep. Occasionally one of these birds would start up out of a sound sleep with an unearthly squawk. Possibly an otter had interrupted its dreams, or a fox had pounced on one as it slept. It may be that it was only a bad dream of these enemies that caused their fright, but whatever it was, that first call would start up the entire flock and they would circle in confusion like a stampeded herd of cattle, their discordant cries putting an end to the stillness of the night. Finally they would settle down in a new spot, and all would be quiet once more.

We saw a few birds that were strangers to us, - water birds which we imagined belonged to the salt water rather than the inland streams, making a little excursion, perhaps, away from their accustomed haunts. One type we saw on two occasions, much like a gull, but smaller, pure white as far as we could tell, soaring in graceful flight above the river.

Camp No. 26 was close to the beginning of a new canyon. The country had been changing in appearance from rather flat plains to small bare hills, gradually increasing in height with smooth, rounded sides, and going up to a point, usually of a dirty clay colour, with little vegetation of any kind on them. The river for miles past had swept in long graceful curves, the hills being close to the river on the outside of the curve, leaving a big flat on the inside. This flat gradually sloped back to hills of an equal height to those opposite. Then the curve would reverse, and the same conditions would be met with again, but on opposite sides from the previous bend. After passing a creek the evening before, the hills became higher, and from our camp we could see the first place where they came close on both sides to the river. We felt now that our beautiful tree-covered canyons were behind us and from now on we would be hemmed in by the great eroded canyons of the Southwest. We were sorry to leave those others behind, and could easily understand why Major Powell had named this Desolation Canyon.

As the canyon deepened the cliffs were cut into fantastic shapes, as is usual in rocks unprotected by vegetation. There was a hard rock near the top in places which overhung a softer formation. This would erode, giving a cornice-like effect to the cliffs. Others were surmounted by square towers and these were capped by a border of little squares, making the whole look much like a castle on the Rhine. For half a day we found no rapids, but pulled away on a good current. The walls gradually grew higher and were more rugged; a few trees cropped out on their sides. At noon our boats were lashed together and lunch was eaten as we drifted. We covered about three miles in this way, taking in the scenery as we passed. We saw a great stone arch, or natural bridge, high on a stupendous cliff to our right, and wondered if any one had ever climbed up to it. Our lunch was no more than finished when the first rapid was heard ahead of us. Quickly unlashing our boats, we prepared for strenuous work. Friday the 13th proved to be a lucky day; thirteen large rapids and thirteen small ones were placed behind us before we camped at Rock Creek - a splashing, laughing mountain stream, no doubt containing trout.

The following morning we found there was a little ranch house below us, but, though we called from our boats, no one came out. We wondered how any one could reach this out-of-the-way place, as a road would be almost an impossibility. Later we found a well-constructed trail on the right-hand side all the way through the canyon. We saw a great many cattle travelling this trail. Some were drinking at the river when we swept into view. Our boats filled them with alarm, and they scrambled for the hillsides, looking after us with frightened expressions as we left them to the rear.

We put in a full day at running rapids, one after another, until fifteen large ones were passed, no count being kept of the smaller ones. Some of these rapids resembled dams from six to twelve feet high, with the water falling abruptly over a steep slope. Others were long and rough, with swift water in places. Above one of these we had landed, then found we could get a much better view from the opposite shore. Emery crossed and landed, I followed. We had been having heavy winds all day. When crossing here I was caught by a sudden gust of wind and carried to the head of the rapid. I heard Emery call, "Look out for the big rock!" then over I went. The wind and water together had turned my boat sideways, and try as I would I could not get it turned around. I saw the rock Emery referred to straight ahead of me. It was about fifteen feet square and about fourteen feet from the shore, with a powerful current shooting between the rock and the shore. It seemed as if I must strike the rock broadside, and I ceased my struggle, but held out an oar with both hands, hoping to break the blow. But it never came. The water struck this rock with great force, then rebounded, and actually kept me from even touching the rock with the oar, but it caught the boat and shot it through the narrow channel, bow first, as neatly as it could possibly be done, then, turned the boat around again as I scrambled to regain my hold on both oars. No other rocks threatened however, and besides filling the cockpit with water, no damage was done.

Emery had no desire to follow my passage and crossed back to the other side. Shooting over the upper end of the rapid, his boat ran up on a rounded rock, the stern sticking high in the air; it paused a moment, the current slowly turning it around as if on a pivot, and the boat slid off; then down he came lurching and plunging, but with no more difficulty. Many times in such places as these we saw the advantage of our flat-bottomed boats over one with a keel, for these would surely be upset when running up on such a rock.