where the foot of the white man seldom strays. Have you heard the
strange voices of Dad's friend?"

"Yes, Dad, I have heard. I hear them now."

Both fell silent. The far away roar of the turbulent waters of the
Colorado was borne to their listening ears. There were other sounds,
too, mysterious sounds that came like distant moans, rising and falling,
with here and there one that sounded like a sob.

"The spirit of the Canyon is sad to-night," murmured Dad.

"Why, Dad, that was the wind sighing through the Canyon."

"Yes, I know, but back of it all there is life, there is the very spirit
of life. I don't know how to explain it, but I feel it deep down inside
of me. I think you do, too."

"Yes, Dad, I do."

"I know you do. It's a living thing to me, kid, as it will be to you
after you know their voices better and they come to know you. All
those people," with a sweeping gesture toward the hotel where music and
song were heard, "miss it all. What they see is a great spectacle. To
see the Grand Canyon is to feel it in your heart. Seeing it in any
other way is not seeing it at all."

"And do you live down there alone?"

"Yes. Why not?"