But a second sweeping glance, slower, becoming intoxicated with what it beheld, saw gigantic cliff-steps and yellow slopes dotted with cedars, leading down to clefts filled with purple smoke, and these led on and on to a ragged red world of rock, bare, shining, bold, uplifted in mesa, dome, peak, and crag, clear and strange in the morning light, still and sleeping like death.
This, then, was the great canyon, which had seemed like a hunter's fable rather than truth.

Slone's sight dimmed, blurring the spectacle, and he found that his eyes had filled with tears.

He wiped them away and looked again and again, until he was confounded by the vastness and the grandeur and the vague sadness of the scene.

Nothing he had ever looked at had affected him like this canyon, although the Stewarts had tried to prepare him for it.
It was the horse-hunter's passion that reminded him of his pursuit.

The deer trail led down through a break in the wall.