Following Spanish Fork eastward so far as it served our purpose, we crossed the divide to the head waters of the South Fork of Price River, a tributary of Green River. It was a regret to me, in choosing this route, that I should miss the familiar and beloved scenery of Weber and Echo cañons--the only part of the Union Pacific road which tempts one to look out of a car window, unless one may be tempted by the boundless monotony of the plains or the chance of a prairie dog. Great was my satisfaction, therefore, to find that this part of the new road, parallel with the Union Pacific, but a hundred miles farther south, traverses the same belt of rocks, and exhibits them in forms not less picturesque. Castle Cañon, on the South Fork of the Price, is the equivalent of Echo Cañon, and is equal or superior in everything except color. The brilliant red of the Echo cliffs is wanting. The towers and walls of Castle Cañon are yellowish-gray. But their forms are incomparably various and grotesque--in some instances sublime. The valley of Green River at this point is a cheerless sage-brush desert, as it is further north. To be sure, this uninviting stream, a couple of hundred miles further south, having united with the Grande, and formed the Rio Colorado, does indeed, by dint of burrowing deeper and deeper into the sunless chasms, become at last sublime. But here it gives no hint of its future somber glory. I remained awake till we had crossed Green River, to make sure that no striking scenery should be missed by sleep. But I got nothing for my pains except the moonlight on the muddy water; and next time I shall go to bed comfortably, proving to the conductor that I am a veteran and not a tender-foot. In the morning, we breakfasted at Cimarron, having in the interval passed the foot-hills of the Roan Mountains, crossed the Grande, and ascended for some distance the Gunnison, a tributary of the Grande, the Uncompahgre, a tributary of the Gunnison, and finally a branch, flowing westward, of the Uncompahgre. A high divide at the head of the latter was laboriously surmounted; and then, one of our two engines shooting ahead and piloting us, we slid speedily down to Cimarron. It is in such descents that the unaccustomed traveler usually feels alarmed. But the experience of the Rio Grande Railroad people is, that derailment is likely to occur on up-grades, and almost never in going down.