When within a mile or so of the Canyon Hotel, the murmur of rushing waters was borne to their ears. It was a welcome sound, and the guide informed them that it was the Yellowstone Rapids that they heard. The river, which up to that time had flowed along peacefully, was now forced close up to the Government road by the canyon walls. Mountainous boulders obstructed its passage, the waters plunging wildly between steep banks and over rocks, breaking into boisterous waterfalls and hurling the spray high in the air. Stacy said it reminded him of a blizzard in Chillicothe.
Camp was made without taking a look at the canyon. After a day of hard riding, dust and discomfort, they had little desire for scenery, and further, it was decided to have their first look at this wonder of nature in the early morning.
That first view was taken from Grand Point just as the sun was rising over the mountains, a view that drew exclamations of wonder from each pair of lips. The canyon, though not so vast as the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, was different. This one wound in and out for more than twenty miles, being about two thousand feet broad at the top and some two hundred feet at the bottom.
“Stupendous!” breathed Elfreda Briggs as they strolled out on Lookout Point, a great projection of rock overhanging the canyon. Here the Overlanders gazed in wonder from the painted walls, for which the canyon is famed, to the snowy waterfalls and river, the latter tracing its way like a slender ribbon of silver set amid all the colors of the rainbow.
“It is awesome!” breathed Grace Harlowe. “The little shower that has just passed, has varnished the rocks and brought out the colors with splendid effect.”
The rush and roar of the lower falls, half a mile distant, could be plainly heard, and the mist that rose from them drifted slowly up into the air, where it was caught by the rays of the morning sun, forming an exquisite rainbow that brought murmurs of wonder from the entranced Overland Riders.
“This is known as Moran Point,” announced the guide after they had moved to another promontory from which to view the splendid scenery.
“Oh, yes,” nodded Tom. “It must have been here that Thomas Moran painted the sketches for his great Yellowstone picture now in the capitol at Washington. The statement is attributed to Moran that fully a million tints and shades of color are represented here.”
“I can well believe it,” nodded Grace.
“I think I should like to have a nice big pot of each one of those colors,” spoke up Stacy. “At a dollar per I’d have some money, wouldn’t I?”