The herald., 1895-10-04

| it. Then fatigue comes In TO neip "sAs
| things pleasant.
| The Unconscious tightening OF the mus
| cles for hours at time has us eieo,
upon the legs. and they ache worse than
| the tootbaehe. Then came tussle will
| old Boreas. The afternoon breeze CANE
| like a storm, rushing, whirling, eddylng,
| surging around the corners, DulietlnS ua
now on this side and now on the otner,
now from above and now from below. AZ
| times motion was impossible; 1t was SIT
still and hold on. Then the winds grew
| hot like the breath of furnace. ano
more walking was necessary; the persplr.
alton rolled as it once did on the oesert
of Mohave. On one side, but Tar oeloV
in a side canyon, was tantaliZ-ng creek
that constantly reminded us OF our tor
tured thirst. At last when we were
nearly exhausted with heat and fatigue,
the trail suddenly turned toward this can
Won and plunged over the edge OF the
precipice, and in fifteen minutes more we
were in a roomy cave. Not down tne
barranca, for there were two hours OF
hard riding ahead, but by the side Of the
brook. living down in the shade of the
overwhelming cliff, at the foot of a beau
tiful cascade. 1t brought to mind the
words, Like the shadow OF great rock
in o weary land" How delicious IL was
looking down into the green oasis OF crys-
tai waters at our side, or up at the cas-
cades, or higher up the gorge where tho
waters came rushing, tumbllng, wllnly,
frantically. so as to hurry down ana play,
and sing softly awhile in our grotto AGA
then again speed away foamlng WIN
rage at the obstacles that lay in their
path to the river. How delightful to rest
and look at the mighty panorama, rival
ing the ma estic beauties of the kaioap,
of Virgin, Colorado.
Wonderful indeed is the coloring, but not
more 80 tnan the sculpture. 1t is not
mass of formless, chaotic crags. for there Is
no front that is monotonous or tame.
The bright tones of the lock faces are
chased across by dark shadows that bring
out with strongest emphasis the archi-
tectural effects OF the sculpturing done
by the wind and rain, by frost and the an
cient river itself. There are buttes and
isolated ten pies, domes and half domes
that look down in calm defiance Of hui
man intrusion. There are great forts
with bastons and scarps thousand feet
high, with turret and over. pinnacle
crest and winding ledge IN proportion.
How impressive the nobility OF the
architecture, the colossal size, the wealth
of characterization, the splendor of color
ing How bewildering the alcoves, ar
phitheaters, promontories. temples, clols-
tiers, ridges. caves and mitered angles
that are fretted with serrated cusps, and
alcoves piled above alcoves, pedi ment
above pediment growing lofter.. wider,
deeper and more ornate in decoration; all
rich IN the aspiring forms of gothic type!
Over thera is a wealth OF plnnacles ana
huge statues, standing in thick ranks,
the great architect adhereing as persist
emily to his design us the builders OF the
Thebald.
ssaWhen the mind wrestles with such
scenery it may feel its own insignificanoe.
but it does not grow listless or lose its
enthusiasm, even when awestruck by the
~IaI Il ItnI hu "a
beauty of proportion and decoration, or
vexed at the lnadequacy OF our faculties
to compre bend m ore.
Refreshed and happy, we start on to
realize that the worst part OF the path is
before US, that here, as the guide says
is where they kill the mules and the
place is pointed out where seventeen have
lett at various time and disappeared.
pack and all, forever. 1t was here we lost
our kitchen mule. and were left without
knife, fork or frying pan. the last heard
from the outfit being the shrieks of the
Dutch ovens as they bounded down
down-out of sight into inaccessible
depths.
The rest of the mules seem to appre-
ciate the disaster, and crept down with
dilated eyes, quivering nostrils and heav
ing TANKS. Their ears are pointed for
ward ard each foot is carefully placed be-
fore another is lifted. Rocks become de-
tached. and accompanied by scores of
pebbles dash and crash down, stirring
up company until a little avalanche is
having good time all by itself some-
where down there, just where no one can
see. Never mind; by this time, as Pat
said, I'VE are used to being kilt" Fin
ally the brook, the trail and the river
meet. The journey down is at an end.
and we are at rest in the shade of the
BAN boo porch of the Adobe dwelling o
Sonora Guadalupe Landay, at the little
town of Guarachic, as strange a town as
it was ever my privilege to visit.-New
York Post.