The new tributary was Grand River, and when our boats floated on the united waters, we were at last on the back of the Dragon.

Away sped the current of the Colorado, swirling along, spitefully lashing with its hungry tongue the narrow sand-banks fringing the rugged shores, so that we scarcely knew where to make a landing.

Finally we halted on the right, constantly watching the boats' lines lest the sand should melt away and take our little ships with it.

Along the bases of the cliffs above the high waters were narrow strips of rocky soil, supporting a few stunted cottonwoods and hackberry trees, which, with some stramonium bushes in blossom, were the sum total of vegetation.

In every way the Junction is a desolate place.