Three hours later the Overland Riders reached the bottom of the grade to Roosevelt, rounded the “painted rocks” that stood sentinel over the trail there, and walked their horses across the great spillway of Roosevelt Dam, more than three hundred yards in length, this spillway releasing the surplus water from Lake Roosevelt, which is formed by the waters held in check and backed up by Roosevelt Dam. The water in its nearly three hundred feet fall from the top of the spillway roared into Salt River Canyon, a miniature Niagara, sending up clouds of rainbow spray, the thunder of its fall echoing down the canyon for miles.
Elfreda Briggs, who was riding by Grace’s side, leaned over and shouted into her companion’s ear:
“Hippy can indulge in as much oratory as he pleases here. No one will hear him above the roar of the waterfall, for which much thanks.”
Grace nodded and grinned.
After crossing the spillway, the party turned to the right and followed a shining white trail along the edge of the lake to the Apache Lodge, which was located, they found, between the east and west arms of the lake.
Some difficulty was experienced in finding a place where they could stake down their ponies, but finally succeeding in tethering the animals, they quickly removed the packs from the backs of “man, woman and beast,” as Miss Briggs characterized it.
“Lieutenant, if you do not mind going bare-headed, we will all walk over to the Lodge and see if they will let us in,” said Grace.
It was a dust-covered, brown-faced, bright-eyed party of girls who mounted the steps of the veranda of the Lodge, where a group of tourists were enjoying the cool mountain air of the late afternoon. All eyes were turned on the newcomers.
“The one with the brown hair is Grace Harlowe. The man is the great American Ace,” Grace heard one of the tourists confide to a companion.
The Overton girl gave the speaker a brief, steady look.