We looked up, on reaching the bottom of the trail, to find Hilltop almost directly overhead, or so it seemed. The descent at this part of the canyon actually measures about 2600 feet, and a plumb line dropped from a horizontal one drawn over the precipice for 42 rods would strike the bottom of the trail. Every bit of merchandise reaching the little village of the Havasupai must be carried on mule-back down this helter-skelter mass of boulders and winding ledges. Once an enterprising superintendent (of whom the Havasupai have had all too few) tried to import a melodeon for the benefit of the church services he instituted for the Indians. It reached the bottom, but it was too entangled with burro bones and twisted wires to be of any use except as a curiosity. To reach the village, one follows the winding river bed for several miles between cliffs of beautifully colored sandstone, flame, pink or purple as the light plays on it. Some of these walls stand nearly a thousand feet high. The river, nearly dry now, and occasionally disappearing underground, had been a torrent in the spring, as we saw from the black water marks high over our heads. During the winter, the Indians are obliged to live in caves halfway up these walls, while the river inundates their villages, carrying away their flimsy willow houses on its tide. Some Havasupai take to Hilltop for the winter. Then when the river returns to its banks in spring and the Havasupai climb down from their chilly caves, the valley becomes a little Paradise, luxuriant and secret. The little pale blue stream is bordered all along its course with beds of watercress a dozen feet deep, sharpened deliciously by the lime water in which it grows. The bleak and thorny mesquite is transformed by masses of feathery leaves, and its heavily pollened yellow catkins fill the narrow valley with a scent like lilies and willow sap. The willows native to this region wear slenderer leaves than our home trees, and are festooned with fragrant lavender flowers, shaped like doll orchids. Never have I seen such lavishness of cactus in bloom. The prickly pear creeps with its giant claws across the sand, its red blossoms giving place to rows of unsightly purple bulbs, which later in the year make good eating. [Illustration: HORSEMAN IN HAVASUPAI CANYON, ARIZONA. The small dark spot on the edge of the floor of the canyon is the Horseman, giving an idea of the scale.]