colors, standing above in vertical cliffs and buttressed below with a
water-carved talus; some of them attain an altitude of nearly a thousand
feet above the level of the river.

We glide quietly down the placid stream past the carved cliffs of the
_mauvaises terres,_ now and then obtaining glimpses of distant
mountains. Occasionally, deer are started from the glades among the
willows; and several wild geese, after a chase through the water, are
shot. After dinner we pass through a short and narrow canyon into a
broad valley; from this, long, lateral valleys stretch back on either
side as far as the eye can reach.

Two or three miles below, Henry's Fork enters from the right. We land a
short distance above the junction, where a _cache_ of instruments and
rations was made several months ago in a cave at the foot of the cliff,
a distance back from the river. Here they were safe from the elements
and wild beasts, but not from man. Some anxiety is felt, as we have
learned that a party of Indians have been camped near the place for
several weeks. Our fears are soon allayed, for we find the _cache_
undisturbed. Our chronometer wheels have not been taken for hair
ornaments, our barometer tubes for beads, or the sextant thrown into the
river as "bad medicine," as had been predicted. Taking up our _cache,_
we pass down to the foot of the Uinta Mountains and in a cold storm go
into camp.

The river is running to the south; the mountains have an easterly and
westerly trend directly athwart its course, yet it glides on in a quiet
way as if it thought a mountain range no formidable obstruction. It
enters the range by a flaring, brilliant red gorge, that may be seen
from the north a score of miles away. The great mass of the mountain