And despite the heat, and the sand in my nostrils, I smelled it, too.

The dogs, poor foot-sore fellows, trotted on ahead down the trail.

A few more miles of hot sand and gravel and red stone brought us around a low mesa to the Little Colorado.
It was a wide stream of swiftly running, reddish-muddy water.

In the channel, cut by floods, little streams trickled and meandered in all directions.

The main part of the river ran in close to the bank we were on.