the open country. Like all Western
rivers, when unprotected by canyons, it was sinking in the sand.
Sand-bars impeded our progress at such places as the mouth of the
Wash. But we had a good current, without rapids in Black Canyon, which
came shortly below, and mile after mile was put behind us before we
camped for the night.

An old stamp-mill, closed for the time, but in charge of three men who
were making preparations to resume work, was passed the next day. They
had telephone communication with Searchlight, Nevada, twenty odd miles
away, and we sent out some telegrams in that way. More sand-bars were
encountered the next day, and ranches began to appear on both sides of
the river. We had difficulty on some of these bars. In places the
river bed was a mile wide, with stagnant pools above the sand, and
with one deep channel twisting between. At Fort Mojave, now an Indian
school and agency, we telephoned to some friends in Needles, as we had
promised to do, telling them we would arrive about noon of the
following day. We made a mistake in not camping at the high ground by
the "fort" that night, for just below the river widened again and the
channel turned out in the centre. It was getting dark and we had
entered this before noticing which way it turned, and had a hard pull
back to the shore, for we had no desire to camp out there in the
quicksand. The shore was little more desirable. It was a marsh,
covered with a growth of flags and tules but with the ground frozen
enough so that we did not sink. Our last camp--No. 76--was made in
this marsh. There we spent the night, hidden like hunted savages in
the cane-brake, while an Indian brass band played some very good music
for an officers' ball, less than half a mile away.

We were up and away with the sun the next morning. On nearing Needles,
a friend met us on the outskirts of the town and informed us that they
had arranged what he called an official landing and reception. At his
request we deferred going down at once, but busied ourselves instead
at packing our cargo, ready for shipping. Our friend had secured the
services of a motion-picture operator and our own camera was sent down
to make a picture of the landing, which was made as he had arranged.

We landed in Needles January 18, 1912; one month from the time of our
start from Bright Angel Trail, with a total of one hundred and one
days spent along the river. In that time our camps had been changed
seventy-six ti