Squaw Creek's clear, pellucid, snow-fed stream runs purling, babbling or roaring and foaming by to the right.

These pioneers with their women and children had crossed the sandy, alkali and waterless deserts.
For days and weeks they had not had water enough to keep their faces clean, to wash the sand from their eyes.

Now, though they had come to a land of apparently unscalable mountains and impassable rock-barriers, they had grass for the stock, and water,--delicious, fresh, pure, refreshing water for themselves.

I can imagine that when they reached here they felt it was a new paradise, and that God was especially smiling upon them, and to such men, with such feelings, what could daunt, what prevent, what long stay their onward march.
As we ascend, the mountains on our right assume the form of artificial parapets of almost white rock, outlined against the bluest of blue skies.

There is one gray peak ahead, tinged with green.