Then the populace to the number of about fifteen--the Chinamen refusing to countenance any outfit harbouring such a terrible engine of the devil as a photographic apparatus--assembled on the beach to give us God-speed.

The cheerful conception of this service on the part of a deaf-mute was to fill the air with violent gestures to indicate--and it was vivid enough--that we could not possibly escape destruction.

One of his series represented with uncomfortable clearness a drowning man vainly striving to climb up a vertical wall.

This pantomime was the last thing I saw from my position at the oars as we turned a bend and left the "city" behind.
We were much better provided for than the first party.

We had a guide, our boats were superior, our plan for supplies was immeasurably better, both as to caring for what we took along and what we were to receive at the several indicated places--mouth of the Uinta, mouth of the Dirty Devil, Crossing of the Fathers, and the Paria.