Now and again a cedar, dwarfed and distorted,
found toe hold between the strata and etched its deep green against the
white and yellow.
About four o'clock the river widened and the walls were broken by
lateral canyons that led back darkly and mysteriously into the bowels
of the desert. For half an hour more Milton guided the Ida onward.
Then Enoch cried, "Milton, see that brook!" and he pointed to a
tumbling little stream that issued from one of the side canyons.
Milton at once called for a landing on the grassy shore beside the
brook. Never was there a sweeter spot than this. Willows bent over
the brook and long grass mirrored itself within its pebbly depths for a
moment before the crystal water joined the muddy Colorado. The Canyon
no longer overhung the river suffocatingly, but opened widely, showing
behind the fissured white granite peaks, crimson and snow capped and
appalling in their bigness.
"Here's where we put in a day, boys!" exclaimed Milton. "I'm sure we
can scramble to the top here, somehow, and get a general idea of the
country."
His crew cheered this statement enthusiastically. The landing was
easily made and the boats were beached and unloaded.
"Never thought I could unload a boat again without bursting into
tears," said Enoch, grunting under three bed rolls he was carrying up
to the willows, "but here I am, full of enthusiasm!"
"You need a lot of it down here, I can tell you," growled Forrester,
who had skinned his chin badly in a fall that morning.
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