fragrance from the white blossoms of the _Spiraea._ A mountain brook
runs through the midst, ponded below by beaver dams. It is a quiet place
for retirement from the raging waters of the canyon.

It will be remembered that the course of the river from Flaming Gorge to
Beehive Point is in a southerly direction and at right angles to the
Uinta Mountains, and cuts into the range until it reaches a point within
five miles of the crest, where it turns to the east and pursues a course
not quite parallel to the trend of the range, but crosses the axis
slowly in a direction a little south of east. Thus there is a triangular
tract between the river and the axis of the mountain, with its acute
angle extending eastward. I climb the mountain overlooking this country.
To the east the peaks are not very high, and already most of the snow
has melted, but little patches lie here and there under the lee of
ledges of rock. To the west the peaks grow higher and the snow fields
larger. Between the brink of the canyon and the foot of these peaks,
there is a high bench. A number of creeks have their sources in the
snowbanks to the south and run north into the canyon, tumbling down from
3,000 to 5,000 feet in a distance of five or six miles. Along their
upper courses they run through grassy valleys, but as they approach Red
Canyon they rapidly disappear under the general surface of the country,
and emerge into the canyon below in deep, dark gorges of their own. Each
of these short lateral canyons is marked by a succession of cascades and
a wild confusion of rocks and trees and fallen timber and thick
undergrowth.

The little valleys above are beautiful parks; between the parks are
stately pine forests, half hiding ledges of red sandstone. Mule deer and
elk abound; grizzly bears, too, are abundant; and here wild cats,
wolverines, and mountain lions are at home. The forest aisles are filled