Vasu, blue-the Bluewater, where dwell the pai, people. Hence their name-Havasupai.

A thousand springs came bubbling up, apparently out of the solid rock. Some few were as large around. as a man's body, others dwindled down to mere jets of tiny fountains, but fifty feet farther down. they all united and became the creek. As it flowed along it was lined on either side by willows so dense, that only where passageways had been cut could one proceed. Here, the canyon widened out to, perhaps, a quarter of a mile, and in this remarkably romantic spot the hawas-brush shelters of the Havasupais were found. They had cultivated patches of corn, melons, beans, onions, chilis, and a few unpruned peach trees, all of which were irrigated with tin" ditches from the creek.

About a mile below the last hawa began the waterfalls, five in number, each of the first three more beautiful than the other, until Wa-ha-hath-peek-haha-the Mother of Falls-was reached. This was the most perfectly exquisite waterfall, in setting, in its leafy embowerage, with the background of red and creamy rocks and ceiling of pure, cloudless, blue sky, my eyes have ever gazed upon. Five hundred falls, all combining to make the one fall, large, small, medium sized jets of water rushing over the lip, which was spread out to a width of possibly five hundred feet. Each stream did not fall at once to the pool, 150 to 160 feet beneath, but fell upon umbrella

like projections of reddish-appearing rock, curved over so that the water was spread out as it leaped down to the next projection. These projections were stony accretions caused by the deposit of lime or other silicate particles carried down by the water, and entangled by the roots of the trees and other vinelike growing things until these latter were completely encrusted. This process was going on as it had been for centuries and we found thousands of tons of these deposits, masses of which could be "mined" and carried away, and some of which were as beautiful as masses of tangled and solidified lace of rarest manufacture. The next fall, a mile advanced, had a drop of from 200 to 300 feet, mainly in one body, and then three or four miles further down was Beaver Falls, a small replica of the fall I have so imperfectly and but partially described. The creek between the falls flowed but seldom for any length of distance uninterrupted. The bush and dense growth on each side reached over and down into the water in scores of places, only to have roots, stems, branches, leaves, encrusted over with the limestone deposit. Then this encrusted matter had grown up and formed pools or basins, and some of these were ten, twenty and more feet deep. I once tried to go down from Mooney to Beaver Falls, in the creek, and it was one constant swimming from pool to pool. This, in the moist heat of August, and with the air laden with the scent of the heavy vege

table growths, and their decaying leaves, was one of the most exhausting and ennervating trips I have ever attempted.

But as I look back upon my many trips to this remarkably picturesque canyon, with its flowing water, gigantic rocky walls, interesting Indians, delicious roasting ears of corn and refreshing peaches, weird midnight dances and other ceremonies, and its never to be forgotten waterfalls Songs Innumerable sing in my memory that I hope time will never efface, and that no wealth of Croesus or Carnegie could ever purchase.

Lure? Who can resist the harmless yet powerfully attractive lure of such brooks and their waterfalls. Here, where I write today, at beautiful Foresta in the Yosemite National Park, one of the chief sources of my joy and content is Crane Creek, that flows directly through the tree-embowered land. Every day the songs of the brook call me from my writing table, and I go down to one of the most cunningly hidden, tree shaded bathing places in the world. To the right is a small but dashing and roaring fall, to the left granite basin after basin into which the water rolls and falls in lazy mass. To step into the cold, clear water, to feel the shock of its stimulating and health giving power, to let the fall dash over one's head and shoulders, breathe deep with the quick, invigorating cold of it, and then, after a vigorous rubbing down, to feel the joyous