boarding-house near by and fortified ourselves with a generous,
hot supper.

There were comments by some of the men on our venture, but they lacked
the true Green River tang. Here, close to the upper canyons, the
unreasonable fear of the rapids gave way to a reasonable respect for
them. Here we heard again of the two young men from St. Louis, and the
mishaps that had befallen them. Here too we were to hear for the first
time of the two Snyders, father and son, and the misfortunes that had
overtaken them in Lodore Canyon, twenty years before. We were to hear
more of these men later.

We made what haste we could back to our boats, soon being overtaken by
a horseman, a big-hearted Swede who insisted on carrying our load as
long as we were going in his direction. How many just such instances
of kindliness we were to experience on our journey down the river! How
the West abounds with such men! It was dark when he left us a mile
from the river. Here there was no road to follow, and we found that
what had been numerous dry gullies before were now streams of muddy
water. Two or three of these streams had to be crossed, and we had a
disagreeable half hour in a marsh. Finally we reached the river, but
not at the point where we had left our boats. We were uncertain
whether the camp was above or below us, and called loudly for Jimmy,
but received no answer.

Emery felt sure that camp was upstream. So upstream we went, keeping
back of the bushes that fringed the banks, carefully searching for a
sign. After a few minutes' hunt we heard a sound: a subdued rumble,
not unlike the distant thunder heard that afternoon, or of boats being
dragged over the pebbles. What could it be? We listened again,