stuck their unkempt heads out from under the cover of many colors, looked like eagles’-nests floating on the water. The old he-Arkansaws, however, stayed by the teams, and one by one they wound up on the bank. When they were all safely landed, it was amusing to see the old fellows going around their wagons as though looking if any were missing, while the little ones jumped out in the sand and sported around in the sun like little wet dogs. We then moved on, and the next day camped at the edge of a pretty forest. The following notice was stuck up on a tree: “Warning! Three hundred Indians in this vicinity.” We kept a sharp lookout; and though we saw some of them, we had no trouble. We were now traveling on the old California emigrant-road; and every few miles we would find stones or boards stuck up at the road-side with almost obliterated inscriptions of “Dora Sires, killed by Indians,” or, died of fever, etc., etc.,--some of the dates being as far back as 1850. We chatted with several old Forty-niners in our rounds, and they told us many interesting incidents in their journey through the wide, wild regions. They say they used to go in large companies for their protection against savages and wild beasts. And to maintain order among themselves, they took their judges and lawyers along, and summary justice was meted out to the offenders as they went along. Sometimes the sentence was death; and in this case the prisoner dangled from the limb of a tree by the road-side. Passing along we came to Evanston, a little town on the Union Pacific Railroad, and near the Utah line. Here we entered Echo Canon, down through which ran the railway--in fact this being the only way the insurmountable heights can be crossed. This canon is far noted for its grandeur, which in no case has been exaggerated. After we had gone down into it a few miles, we found the walls almost perpendicular, and from eight hundred to one thousand feet high; and the great eagles that flew from crag to crag above our heads looked as small as swallows. Upon speaking here the volume was greatly increased, and an ordinary conversation echoed far down the canon. Hence the name, “Echo Canon.” There is a little stream running in at the mouth of the canon, and being fed all the way down by springs that roll their waters from the cliffs above, it increases to quite a creek. At some places the canon is very narrow, and the stream taking up nearly the whole way, the rail and wagon roads are forced to wind along the side of the mountains, often several hundred feet above. The road at these places has required a great deal of labor to make it passable, and is so narrow that should a wheel get six inches out of the way, team, wagon and all would roll down the steep side and be dashed to pieces against the crags and pines, and finally thud in the waters far below. There are places all along, a mile or two apart, where teams can pass, and it is the duty of each outfit to