Then we sat down--in the little hotel at Green River City--as others
had done before, to write last messages to those who were nearest and
dearest to us. A telegram to our parents in an Eastern city; and
another to Emery's wife and little girl, at Bright Angel, more than
eight hundred miles down this self-same river--these, somehow, took
longer to write than the letters themselves. But whatever we may have
felt, we finished this final correspondence in silence, and hurried
back to the river.
Something of a crowd had gathered on the bridge to wish us _bon
voyage_. Shouting up to them our thanks for their hospitality, and
telling them to "look pleasant," we focussed the motion-picture camera
on them, Emery turning the crank, as the boat swung out into the
current.
So began our journey, on Friday, September the 8th, 1911, at 9.30
A.M., as entered in my journal.
CHAPTER II
INTERESTING SIGHTS OF SOUTHERN WYOMING
All this preparation--and still more, the vexatious delays--had been a
heavy tax upon us. We needed a vacation. We took it--six pleasant
care-free days--hunting and fishing as we drifted through the sixty
miles of southern Wyoming. There were ducks and geese on the river to
test our skill with the shot-gun. Only two miles below Green River
City Emery secured our first duck, a promise of good sport to follow.
An occasional cottontail rabbit was seen, scurrying to cover through
the sage-brush, when we made a detour from the boats.
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