waves was the cockpit, or mid-section occupied by the oarsman. This
was only large enough for one man. A second man had to sit on the deck
behind the oarsman, with his feet hanging into the cockpit. Jimmy
occupied this place of honour as we drifted through the placid water;
first on one boat, then on the other, entertaining us meanwhile with
his songs.

We encountered two splashy little rapids this day, but with no rocks,
or any dangerous feature whatever. Any method, or none at all, was
safe enough in these rapids.

The colouring of the rocks changed as we proceeded, and at the lower
end of the short canyon we saw the flaming patch of colour that had
suggested its name to Major Powell, forty-two years before.
Intensified on that occasion by the reflected light of a gorgeous
sunset, it must have been a most brilliant spectacle.

Two beavers slid into the water when we were close beside them, then
rose to the surface to stare curiously when we had passed. We left
them undisturbed. Some geese decoyed us into an attempt to ambush
them, but they kept always just out of reach of our guns. Wise
fellows, those geese!

A geological fault accompanied by the breaking down of the walls marks
the division between Flaming Gorge and Horseshoe Canyon, which
immediately follows. We nooned here, opposite a deserted cabin. A
trail dropped by easy stages over the slope on the east side; and
fresh tracks showed that sheep had recently been driven down to the
water's edge.