Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, a broken, foaming
raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took its final leap into a
blue abyss, and then found its way to the Colorado, hidden underground.
The flower-scented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted long
after the valley lay behind and above, but these failed at length in the
close air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stones
cracked like deep bell-strokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollow
sound and echo. Silvermane clattered down the easy trail at a gait which
urged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upon
a plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the red
Colorado, sullen-voiced, booming, never silent nor restful. Here were
distances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of the
canyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesas
that dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was bare rock of many hues burning
under the sun.
"Jack, this is mescal," said the girl, pointing to some towering plants.
All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding in
spiral leaves as they shot upward and bursting at the top into plumes of
yellow flowers.
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