On the 9th of June we were at an altitude of ten thousand feet above sea-level, with all the wilderness of canyons, cliffs, and buttes between us and the Colorado spreading below like a map, or rather like some kaleidoscopic phantasm.

The slopes we were crossing were full of leaping torrents and clear lakes.

They were so covered with these that the plateau afterwards was given the name Aquarius.

Beaman, who had been photographer on our river trip, had left us, and we now had a new man from Salt Lake, named Fennemore.

He was a frail man and the trip was almost too much for him.