They ever increased in number, and directly opposite that night's camp one fell straight down for about two hundred feet, disappeared in mist to gather again on a ledge below, and shot out once more, a delicate silvery thread against the dark mass of the cliff.
The next day we passed a group of three canyons entering at one point, to which the name Trinalcove was given, as they appeared from the river like alcoves rather than canyons.

The river was now very winding with walls frequently vertical.

There were no rapids, though the water as a rule moved somewhat swiftly.

The days were growing short, and the night air had an autumnal chill about it that made the camp-fire comforting.
At the end of sixty-two miles the walls broke up into buttes and pinnacles, thousands of them, suggesting immense organs, cathedrals, and almost anything the imagination pictured.

One resembling a mighty cross lying down was in consequence called the "Butte of the Cross."* This was practically the end of Labyrinth Canyon, and sweeping around a beautiful bend, where the rocks again began to come together, we were in the beginning of the next canyon of the series, two years before named Stillwater.