Far away to the southwest were various chains of mountains, rising above an elevated but broken region. The mountains were sharp and clear cut. Over all was an atmosphere of wonderful clarity.
"The great Colorado River flows zigzag through that region," said the captain, indicating the distant mountains.
We gazed at it feeling the spell of its fascinating mystery creep over us. There was so much to take in that we sat on our ponies gazing out over this weird land for a long time. Later, we watched the faint crimson of evening die away and the azure that precedes the darkness, robe the distant horizon line of mountains.
This was our last camp in these mountains and also the last night that the captain was to camp with us. We were talking it over after supper as we sat around the fire.
"I don't consider this as good-bye," said the captain, "for I expect to see you at my cabin on the plateau after you return from Mexico."
"If it is possible, you may count on us," asserted Jim.
"You will have much of interest to tell me, I know that. I shall like to hear of the old trails that I have travelled years ago."
"We shall be just one trail ahead of you and that is down the Colorado River," said Jim.
"You're welcome to it," replied the captain, "from what I have heard of its style of action. As a preliminary I should like to begin with the rapids below Niagara."
"One thing is in our favor, we are all good swimmers," suggested Tom.