The dogs lolled in the water; the horses and mules tried to run in, but were restrained; the men drank, and bathed their faces.

According to my Flagstaff adviser, this was one of the two drinks I would get on the desert, so I availed myself heartily of the opportunity.

The water was full of sand, but cold and gratefully thirst-quenching.
The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than a shallow creek; I heard nothing sullen or menacing in its musical flow.
"Doesn't look bad, eh ?" queried Emmett, who read my thought.

"You'd be surprised to learn how many men and Indians, horses, sheep and wagons are buried under that quicksand." The secret was out, and I wondered no more.

At once the stream and wet bars of sand took on a different color.