Chapter 1
_ CHAPTER I
The Grand Canyon of Arizona is over two hundred miles long, thirteen wide, and a mile and a half deep； a titanic gorge in which mountains, tablelands, chasms and cliffs lie half veiled in purple haze. It is wild and sublime, a thing of wonder, of mystery； beyond all else a place to grip the heart of a man, to unleash his daring spirit.
On April 20th, 1908, after days on the hot desert, my weary party and pack train reached the summit of Powell‘s Plateau, the most isolated, inaccessible and remarkable mesa of any size in all the canyon country. Cut off from the mainland it appeared insurmountable； standing aloof from the towers and escarpments, rugged and bold in outline, its forest covering like a strip of black velvet, its giant granite walls gold in the sun, it seemed apart from the world, haunting with its beauty, isolation and wild promise.
The members of my party harmoniously fitted the scene. Buffalo Jones, burly-shouldered, bronze-faced, and grim,

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