The stream being so tranquil reading poetry was more to our taste than hunting the beaver, and Prof.
read aloud from Emerson as we slowly advanced upon the enemy.
After about nine miles of this sort of thing we stopped for dinner in a pretty cottonwood grove at the foot of a cliff on the right with beaver swimming around as if they did not know what a human being was.

When our venison had been disposed of the boats were shoved out into the river again and we continued our approach to the canyon.

The surrounding region became a desolate waste; a broken desert plateau elevated above us about two hundred feet.

Some deer seen on an island caused us to land and try to get a good shot at one, but we failed to get near enough for success and they quickly disappeared.

The ground was too difficult for pursuit.