s distant. The stream was swollen, and
went howling down the ravine full of sound and fury--which in this case,
however, signified a good deal.

Once we stopped and took an observation, for the track was under water;
then we waded cautiously to the mainland, across the sunken section, and
thanked our stars that we were not boycotted by the elements at that
inhospitable point. Once we paused for a few minutes to contemplate the
total wreck of a palace car that had recently struck a projecting
bowlder--and spattered.

The camps along the track are just such as may be looked for in the
waste places of the earth--temporary shelter for wayfarers whose homes
are under their hats. The thin stream of civilization that trickles off
into the wilderness, following the iron track, makes puddles now and
again. Some of these dwindle away soon enough--or perhaps not quite soon
enough; some of them increase and become permanent and beautiful.

Night found us in the Black Canon of the Gunnison. Could any time be
more appropriate? Clouds rolled over us in dense masses, and at
intervals the moon flashed upon us like a dark lantern. Could anything
be more picturesque? We knew that much of the darkness, the blackness of
darkness, was adamantine rock; some of it an inky flood--a veritable
river of death--rolling close beneath us, but quite invisible most of
the time; and the night itself a profound mystery, through which we
burned an endless tunnel--like a firebrand hurled into space.

Now and again the heavens opened, and then we saw the moon soaring among
the monumental peaks; but the heights were so cloudlike and the cloud
masses so solid we could not for the life of us be certain of the nature
of either. There were canons like huge quarries, and canons like rocky
mazes, where we seemed to have rushed headlong into a _cul de sac_, and
were in danger of dashing our brains out against the mighty walls that
loomed before us. There was many a winding stream which we took at a
single bound, and occasionally an oasis, green and flowery; but, oh, so
few habitations and so few spots that one would really care to inhabit!

Marshall Pass does very well for once; it is an experience and a
novelty--what else is there in life to make it livable save a new
experience or the hope of one? Such a getting up hill as precedes the
rest at the summit! We stopped for breath while the locomotive puffed
and panted as if it would burst its brass-bound lungs;