The turrets, mesas, domes, parapets and escarpments of yellow and red rock gave the appearance of an architectural work of giant hands.

The wonderful river of silt, the blood-red, mystic and sullen Rio Colorado, lay hidden except in one place far away, where it glimmered wanly.

Thousands of colors were blended before my rapt gaze.

Yellow predominated, as the walls and crags lorded it over the lower cliffs and tables; red glared in the sunlight; green softened these two, and then purple and violet, gray, blue and the darker hues shaded away into dim and distinct obscurity.
Excited yells from my companions on the other crag recalled me to the living aspect of the scene.

Jones was leaning far down in a niche, at seeming great hazard of life, yelling with all the power of his strong lungs.