But if we expected to find the Navajo, or Utes on the shore, ready to
greet us, we were doomed to disappointment.
We explored a few side canyons this morning, hoping to find a spot
where some of Major Powell's party--particularly those men who were
afterwards killed by the Indians--had chiselled their names, which
record we were told was to be found near the San Juan, but on which
side we were not sure. While in one of these canyons, or what was
really nothing more than a crooked overhanging slit in the rocks,
containing a small stream, Emery found himself in some soft quicksand,
plunged instantly above his knees, and sinking rapidly. He would have
had a difficult time in getting out of this quicksand without help,
for a smooth, rock wall was on one side, the other bank of the stream
was sheer above him for a few feet, and there was nothing solid which
he could reach. We had seen a great deal of quicksand before this, but
nothing of this treacherous nature. Usually we could walk quickly over
these sands without any danger of being held in them, or if
caught--while lifting on a boat for instance--had no difficulty in
getting out. When once out of this canyon we gave up our search for
the carved record.
But it was not the hope of shortening our homeward run, or the
prospect of meeting Indians on the shores, or of finding historical
records, even, that caused us to make this early start. It was the
knowledge that the wonderful Rainbow Natural Bridge, recently
discovered, and only visited by three parties of whites, lay hidden in
one of the side canyons that ran from the north slope of Navajo
Mountain.
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