Under this tree we placed all our belongings, and then, as Frank so felicitously expressed it, we were free to "ooze round an' see things." I believe I had a sort of subconscious, selfish idea that some one would steal the canyon away from me if I did not hurry to make it mine forever; so I sneaked off, and sat under a pine growing on the very rim.

At first glance, I saw below me, seemingly miles away, a wild chaos of red and buff mesas rising out of dark purple clefts.

Beyond these reared a long, irregular tableland, running south almost to the extent of my vision, which I remembered Clarke had called Powell's Plateau.

I remembered, also, that he had said it was twenty miles distant, was almost that many miles long, was connected to the mainland of Buckskin Mountain by a very narrow wooded dip of land called the Saddle, and that it practically shut us out of a view of the Grand Canyon proper.

If that was true, what, then, could be the name of the canyon at my feet?
Suddenly, as my gaze wandered from point to point, it was attested by a dark, conical mountain, white-tipped, which rose in the notch of the Saddle.