But we had traversed the same river and the same canyons which change
but little from year to year, and had succeeded beyond our fondest
hopes in having accomplished what we set out to do.
The Black Mountains, dark and forbidding, composed of a hard rock
which gave a metallic clink, and decorated with large spots of white,
yellow, vermilion, and purple deposits of volcanic ashes, were entered
this afternoon. The peaks were about a thousand feet high. The passage
between is known as Boulder Canyon. Here we met two miners at work on
a tunnel, or drift, who informed us that it was about forty miles to
Las Vegas, Nevada, and that it was only twenty-five miles from the
mouth of Las Vegas Wash, farther down the river, to this same town and
the railroad.
Fort Callville--an abandoned rock building, constructed by the
directions of Brigham Young, without windows or roof, and surrounded
by stone corrals--was passed the next day. At Las Vegas Wash the river
turned at right angles, going directly south, holding with very little
deviation to this general direction until it empties into the Gulf of
California nearly five hundred miles away. The river seemed to be
growing smaller as we got out in the open country. Like all Western
rivers, when unprotected by canyons, it was sinking in the sand.
Sand-bars impeded our progress at such places as the mouth of the
Wash. But we had a good current, without rapids in Black Canyon, which
came shortly below, and mile after mile was put behind us before we
camped for the night.
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