This was a strange canon.

The sun never shown down to the bottom in the fearful place where the little mule climbed up, and the rocks had a peculiar yellow color.

In getting our provisions up the precipice, Rogers went below and fastened the rope while I pulled them up.

Rogers wished many times we had the horses up safely where the mule was, but a dog could hardly cross the narrow path and there was no hope.

Poor brutes, they had been faithful servants, and we felt sorrowful enough at their terrible fate.
We had walked two days without water, and we were wonderfully refreshed as we found it here.