rket-place for all the
ranchers of this region. Dotting the foot-hills where water was less
plentiful were occasional cabins, set down in the middle of hay
ranches. All this husbandry only emphasized the surrounding
desolation. Just beyond, dark in the southern sky, rose the great
peaks of the Uintah range, the mountains we were so soon to enter.

Storm-clouds had been gathering about one great snow-covered peak, far
in the distance. These clouds spread and darkened, moving rapidly
forward. We had taken the hint and were already making all possible
haste toward the town, hoping to reach it before the storm broke. But
it was useless. Long before we had gained the edge of the valley the
rain had commenced in the mountains,--small local storms, resembling
delicate violet-coloured veils, hung in the dense pall of the clouds.
There were far flashes of lightning, and the subdued roar of distant
thunder, rapidly growing louder as the storm approached. Unable to
escape a drenching, we paused a moment to wonder at the sight; to
marvel--and shrink a little too--at the wild, incessant lightning. The
peaks themselves seemed to be tumbling together, such was the
continuous roar of thunder, punctuated by frequent deafening crashes.

Then the storm came down upon us. Such torrents of rain we have seldom
witnessed: such gusts of driving wind! At times we could scarcely make
headway against it, but after most strenuous effort we neared the
village. We hoped to find shelter under a bridge, but found
innumerable muddy streams running through the planks. So we resumed
our plodding, slipping and sliding in the black, bottomless mud.

The storm by this time had passed as quickly as it came. Wet to our
skins, we crawled into the little store and post-office combined,
and found it filled with ranch hands, waiting for the weekly mail.
We made a few purchases, wrote some letters, then went to a large
boarding-house near by and fortified ourselves with a generous,
hot supper.

There were comments by some of the men on our venture, but they lacked
the true Green River tang. Here, close to the upper canyons, the
unreasonable fear of the rapids gave way to a reasonable respect for
them. Here we heard again of the two young men from St. Louis, and the
mishaps that had befallen them. Here too we were to hear for the first
time of the two Snyders, father and son, and the misfortunes that had
overtaken them in Lodore Canyon, twenty years before. We