The summit of the mountains was not quite as imposing as I expected, but it was the summit, and we were soon surely moving down the western side, for at Pacific Springs the water ran to the westward, toward the Pacific coast.

The next day we came to the nearly dry bed of the river--the Big Sandy.

The country round about seemed volcanic, with no timber, but plenty of sage brush, in which we were able to shoot an occasional sage hen.

The river bed itself was nothing but sand, and where there was water enough to wet it, it was very miry and hard traveling over it.

There are two streams, the Big Sandy and Little Sandy, both tributaries to Green River, which we soon reached and crossed.
It was a remarkable clear and rapid stream and was now low enough to ford.