We gathered armfuls of the watercress, our first bit of green food in weeks, for the West lives mainly by virtue of the can-opener, and has yet to discover the value of vitamines. Our horses splashed to their knees in the cooling stream. From time to time a sharp turn in the canyon displayed long vistas from lateral canyons, ending in far-off mountains which may have been part of the Father of all Canyons. Frequently the river dropped underground, as rivers do here, taking all the spring verdure with it, and reappeared again to make a veritable Happy Valley, the like of which few ever see on this earth. Narrow at the entrance, it widens to an oval surrounded by thousand-foot walls glowing with color, its floor of new alfalfa shining like green enamel. Giant, shady cottonwoods line the river and the lazy road meandering beside it along the valley. A deep blue sky, nearly hidden by sun-flecked leaves, arches over rose-red cliffs. Before the agency, women, with stolid dark faces and head-dresses made of four brilliant handkerchiefs sewn together into a long scarf, gathered, chattering with excitement at sight of the white women, making simple friendly overtures, offering us yellow plums, and giggling good-naturedly at our riding breeches. They themselves wore calico skirts billowing to the ground, in a style popular in the eighties. The agent hospitably put his house at our disposal, though he was preparing to leave soon for another post. He was a homesick man. Life in Paradise is bad for the civilized. He and his wife were the only white people in the canyon, and he admitted that at times the Indians were too much with him;--while we were there, in fact, they camped all day on his lawn. And since all that he uses must be packed down the trail, he was obliged to dispense with most unessentials and many essentials. It must be admitted, too, that this reservation has been usually neglected by the Indian Commissioners, which makes life hard both for the agent and the tribe.