Hurriedly we made our way up to
Rust's camp,--closed for the winter; for heavy snows would cover the
North Rim in a few days or a few weeks at the farthest, filling the
trails with heavy drifts and driving the cougar into the canyon where
dogs and horses cannot follow. But the latch-string was out for us, we
knew, had we cared to use the tents. Our signal fire was built a mile
above the camp, at a spot that was plainly visible on a clear day from
our home on the other side, six miles away as the crow flies. We had
often looked at this spot, with a telescope, from the veranda of our
studio, watching the hunting and sight-seeing parties ride up the bed
of the stream. We rather feared the drifting clouds and mists would
hide the fire from view, but now and then a rift appeared, and we knew
if they were looking they could see its light. Camp No. 51 was made
close to Bright Angel Creek, that evening, Thursday, October the 16th,
two months and eight days from the time we had embarked on our
journey.
Three or four hours were spent in packing our material the next
morning, so it could be stored in a miners' tunnel, near the end of
the trail. We would pack little of this out, as we intended to resume
our river work in a week or ten days. A five-minute run took us over
the rapid below Bright Angel Creek, and down to a bend in the river,
just above the Cameron or Bright Angel Trail. Two men--guides from the
hotel--called to us as our boats swept into view.
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