The water is unfit to drink on account of the arsenic it contains. I
noticed that none of the hot, tired horses even dipped their dusty noses
into the pool. Safely away from this unhealthy spot we came into
Rattlesnake Canyon, so named for obvious reasons, where the riding was
much easier. Twelve miles onward and two thousand feet farther down
found us among bubbling springs and magnificent cotton woods. This is
where the Thousand Springs come into the sunlight after their rushing
journey through many miles of underground caverns. New springs broke
out from the roots of the trees and along the banks of the stream until
it was a rushing little river.

We were evidently expected, for when we reached the village the natives
all turned out to see and be seen: brown children as innocent of
clothing as when they first saw the light; fat, greasy squaws with
babies on their backs; old men and women--all stared and gibbered at us.

"Big Jim" and "Captain Burros" headed what seemed to be the committee of
welcome. Big Jim was clad in a full-dress suit and silk hat donated to
him by Albert, King of the Belgians, and with that monarch's medal of
honor pinned to his front, Jim was, speaking conservatively, a startling
vision. Captain Burros wore the white shirt of ceremony which he dons
only for special occasions, with none of the whiteness dimmed by being
tucked into his trousers.

Big Jim welcomed us gravely, asking the Chief: "Did you bring my
_fermit_?" This permit, a paper granting Big Jim a camping location on
Park grounds, having been duly delivered, Jim invited us to share his
hewa, but after one look at the surroundings we voted unanimously to
camp farther up the stream among the cottonwoods. We chose a level spot
near the ruins of an old hewa.