We made a quick dash
over the vicious little drop below the bend,--easy for our boats, but
dangerous enough for lighter craft on account of a difficult
whirlpool,--and were soon on shore greeting old friends. Up on the
plateau, 1300 feet above, a trail party of tourists and guides called
down their welcome. The stores were put in the miners' tunnel as we
had planned, and the boats were taken above the high-water mark;
placed in dry dock one might say.
The guides had good news for us and bad news too. Emery's wife had
been ill with appendicitis nearly all the time we were on our journey.
We had received letters from her at every post-office excepting Lee's
Ferry, but never a hint that all was not well. She knew it would break
up the trip. Pretty good nerve, we thought!
Ragged and weary, but happy; a little lean and over-trained, but
feeling entirely "fit,"--we commenced our seven-mile climb up the
trail, every turn of which seemed like an old friend. When 1300 feet
above the river, our little workshop beside a stream on the
plateau--only used at intervals when no water can be had on top, and
closed for three months past--gave us our first cheerless greeting.
Although little more than a hundred feet from the trail, we did not
stop to inspect it. Cameron's Indian Garden Camp was also closed for
the day, and we were disappointed in a hope that we could telephone to
our home, 3200 feet above. But the tents, under rows of waving
cottonwoods, and surrounded by beds of blooming roses and glorious
chrysanthemums, gave us a more cheerful welcome than our little
building below.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214