down with lines. In the afternoon we come to more dangerous rapids and
stop to examine them. I find we must do the same work again, but, being
on the wrong side of the river to obtain a foothold, must first cross
over--no very easy matter in such a current, with rapids and rocks
below. We take the pioneer boat, "Emma Dean," over, and unload her on
the bank; then she returns and takes another load. Running back and
forth, she soon has half our cargo over. Then one of the larger boats is
manned and taken across, but is carried down almost to the rocks in
spite of hard rowing. The other boats follow and make the landing, and
we go into camp for the night.

At the foot of the cliff on this side there is a long slope covered with
pines; under these we make our beds, and soon after sunset are seeking
rest and sleep. The cliffs on either side are of red sandstone and
stretch toward the heavens 2,500 feet. On this side the long, pine-clad
slope is surmounted by perpendicular cliffs, with pines on their
summits. The wall on the other side is bare rock from the water's edge
up 2,000 feet, then slopes back, giving footing to pines and cedars.

As the twilight deepens, the rocks grow dark and somber; the threatening
roar of the water is loud and constant, and I lie awake with thoughts of
the morrow and the canyons to come, interrupted now and then by
characteristics of the scenery that attract my attention. And here I
make a discovery. On looking at the mountain directly in front, the
steepness of the slope is greatly exaggerated, while the distance to its
summit and its true altitude are correspondingly diminished. I have
heretofore found that to judge properly of the slope of a mountain side,
one must see it in profile. In coming down the river this afternoon, I
observed the slope of a particular part of the wall and made an estimate
of its altitude. While at supper, I noticed the same cliff from a