wo thousand feet deep. Anywhere else this
crevice between sheer walls of blackened, distorted, jagged rocks would
be considered one of the original Seven Wonders. Placed as it is, one
tosses it a patronizing glance, stifles a yawn, and rides on. A mile or
so along we crossed a trickle of water coming from Wild Burro Springs,
so named because the burros common to this region come there to drink.
Just as we drew rein to allow our horses to quench their thirst, the
sultry silence was shattered beyond repair. Such a rasping, choking,
jarring sound rolled and echoed back and forth from crag to crag!
"What's that?" I gasped, after I had swallowed my heart two or three
times. The Chief pointed to a rock lying a few feet away. Over the top
of this an enormous pair of ears protruded, and two big, solemn eyes
were glued on us unblinkingly. It was only a wee wild burro, but what a
large voice he owned! The thousand or more of these small gray and black
animals are a heritage from the day of the prospector. Some of them are
quite tame. One called "Bright Angel" was often utilized by tourists as
a mount while they had pictures snapped to take to the admiring family
left behind.

We passed on across the plateau and rounded O'Neill Butte, named for
Bucky O'Neill, one of Roosevelt's Rough Riders killed at San Juan Hill,
and we suddenly came to the "sure 'nuff" jumping-off place at the edge
of Granite Gorge. One should have at least a week's warning before this
scene is thrown upon the screen. I think it was here that Irvin Cobb
tendered his resignation--effective immediately. Straight down, fifteen
hundred feet beneath one, flows the Colorado. There are no words to
describe this. One must see it for one's self. Down, down, back and
forth zigzags that trail, jumping from crag to crag and mesa to mesa,
finally running on to the mere thread suspended from wall to wall high
above the sullen brown torrent. When once started down this last lap of
the journey riverward, one finds that the trail is a great deal smoother
than that already traveled. But the bridge! Picture to yourself a
four-foot wooden road, four hundred and twenty feet long, fenced with
wire, and slung on steel cables fifty feet above a rushing muddy river,
and you will see what I was supposed to ride across. My Indian horse
stopped suddenly, planted himself firmly--and looked. I did likewise.

"Those cables look light," I said, seeking some excuse to stay right
where I was.