Nevada, and
southern California were warned of the approaching danger; but when the
Paru'shapats came nearer, they discovered that it was a fire on one of
the great temples; and then they knew that the fire was not
kindled by men, for no human being could scale the rocks. The
_Tu'muurrugwait'sigaip,_ or Rock Rovers, had kindled a fire to
deceive the people. So, in the Indian language this is called
_Tu'muurruwait'sigaip Tuweap',_ or Rock Rovers' Land.

_September 13._--We start very early this morning, for we have a long
day's travel before us. Our way is across the Rio Virgen to the south.
Coming to the bank of the stream here, we find a strange metamorphosis.
The streams we have seen above, running in narrow channels, leaping and
plunging over the rocks, raging and roaring in their course, are here
united and spread in a thin sheet several hundred yards wide and only a
few inches deep, but running over a bed of quicksand. Crossing the
stream, our trail leads up a narrow canyon, not very deep, and then
among the hills of golden, red, and purple shales and marls. Climbing
out of the valley of the Rio Virgen, we pass through a forest of dwarf
cedars and come out at the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs. All day we
follow this Indian trail toward the east, and at night camp at a great
spring, known to the Indians as Yellow Rock Spring, but to the Mormons
as Pipe Spring; and near by there is a cabin in which some Mormon
herders find shelter. Pipe Spring is a point just across the Utah line
in Arizona, and we suppose it to be about 60 miles from the river. Here
the Mormons design to build a fort another year, as an outpost for
protection against the Indians. We now discharge a number of the
Indians, but take two with us for the purpose of showing us the springs,
for they are very scarce, very small, and not easily found. Half a dozen
are not known in a district of country large enough to make as many
good-sized counties in Illinois. There are no running streams, and
these springs and water pockets are our sole dependence.

Starting, we leave behind a long line of cliffs, many hundred feet high,
composed of orange and vermilion sandstones. I have named them
"Vermilion Cliffs." When we are out a few miles, I look back and see the
morning sun shining in splendor on their painted faces; the salient
angles are on fire, and the retreating angles are buried in shade, and I
gaze on them until my vision dreams and the cliffs appear a