of the present political status would, I believe, at once approve and accept any suitable constitution that had been adopted by the people of the Territory. The President could then, and would, by proclamation, declare New Mexico to be a State, thus assuring the speedy development of our magnificent resources, and protecting for all time our natural right to the waters of the Rio Grande for the irrigation of our lands. Statehood is unquestionably essential to New Mexico's material progress, and, if statehood is to be attained, now is the appointed time. It is the imperative duty of every citizen in the Territory to help in the good cause. Too long have they endured political bondage; too long submitted to taxation without representation; too long been denied a voice in the councils of the nation. Let Democratic and Republican leaders lay aside all party jealousies and petty differences, and work for the welfare of our glorious "land of sunshine," without thought of political preferment or personal ambition. Better a State under a Republican administration than a Territory under Democratic control. Better a State under Democratic administration than a Territory under Republican control. Let all unite in striving for full citizenship for the people of New Mexico and our representatives in Congress will soon cease to be Congressional outcasts, voteless political eunuchs, powerless to defend the rights of the people they represent. NATHAN E. BOYD, Director-General The Rio Grande Dam and Irrigation Company, Las Cruces, N. Mex.

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE RIO GRANDE.

[From The Century Magazine, January, 1901.]

RUNNING THE CANYONS OF THE RIO GRANDE.

A CHAPTER OF RECENT EXPLORATION, BY ROBERT T. HILL, UNITED STATES GEOLOGICAL SURVEY, IN CHARGE OF THE EXPEDITION.

So far as man's conception of time is concerned, the American desert is, always has been, and always will be. Its vast oval area of sterile plain, relieved here and there by mountain ranges, extends between higher bordering crests-those of the Rocky Mountains on the east and the Pacific Sierras on the west-from British Columbia to the end of the southern plateau of Mexico. Of the feeble streams which originate within the great desert only three cross the barrier sierras and ultimately reach the sea. These three are the Columbia of the north, the Colorado of the southwest, and the Rio Grande of the southeast. The wonders of the Colorado of the West were made known to the world through the dangerous trip of Maj. J. W. Powell, in 1869, and are now brought within easy reach of the Pullman-car tourist. canyons of the Rio Grande are longest and least known; they have been and still are the least accessible to man, and have not hitherto been fully described.

The

Before describing the passage of the canyons of the Rio Bravo, the middle portion of the Rio Grande, let us glance a moment at the country through which they pass-the matrix, so to speak, out of which the canyons are carved. The widest and lowest part of the great American desert closely follows the international border, and is traversed by the Southern Pacific Railway. The railway on the north and the Rio Grande on the south inclose a vast triangular area known in Texas as the Big Bend Country.

Away from the railway the Big Bend-sometimes called the Bloody Bend-is known as a "hard country;" that is, one in which, through lack of water, civilization finds it difficult to gain a foothold. Although

abundantly supplied with waterworks, such as scarped and canyoned streamways, it possesses a minimum of water. These great arroyos are mocking travesties, which suggest that nature became tired of making this country before turning on the water.

Every other aspect of the Big Bend Country-landscape, configuration, rocks, and vegetation-is weird and strange and of a type unfamiliar to the inhabitants of civilized lands. The surface is a peculiar combination of desert plain and volcanic hills and mountains, the proportions of which are increased by the vast distance which the vision here reaches through the crystalline atmosphere. There is no natural feature that can be described in familiar words.

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There are no true forests except upon the tips of the highest peaks, but shrubby plants abound, which are as strange and unfamiliar as the names they bear. Each of these plants is armed with thorns. are wounded, caught, held, or anchored by this spiteful vegetation at every step away from the beaten trails first made, long centuries ago, by the Mescalero Apaches and the Lipans. One is also roasted unmercifully by day by 130° of sunshine, and cooled almost to the freezing point at night. These great extremes of temperature shatter even the very rocks into fragments.

Around the southern side of the Big Bend Country flows the Rio Bravo, separating this hard portion of Texas from a similar and still harder portion of Mexico. Between the two Republics the river serves as a permanent frontier which is virtually impassable. Few Americans realize the impregnability and isolation of this frontier, or that it represents a portion of our national boundaries which heretofore has never been completely traversed or explored.

When the expedition was first announced many witty remarks were made concerning it. The idea was ridiculed that there were either mountains or canyons in this region, and one facetious correspondent said that he had lived upon the Rio Grande for twenty years, and added that, owing to the absence of water in its sandy bed, the only way the river could be explored was in a buggy. As I drew near the region, more serious obstacles were suggested. As we reached San Antonio the already familiar story that the trip could not be made for want of water began to be supplemented by other dangers. At the Pecos we first heard from old frontiersmen, what proved to be the truth, that too much water was to be dreaded rather than too little, which, coming in sudden floods, would be likely to dash to pieces any craft that entered the stream. At Alpine and Marfa, the only two villages of consequence in the desert stretch of 300 miles between the Pecos and El Paso, graver warnings were received. One man who had spent considerable time upon the river stated that huge obstacles had fallen into the canyons, which made them utterly impassable; others warned us that smallpox was ravaging Presidio del Norte, our proposed point of embarkation, and that in the semiopen country along a portion of the river below Presidio there were murderers, theives, and bandits, who would destroy any one invading their domain by shooting volleys at night into sleeping camps. These stories of danger, apparently from authentic sources, grew in magnitude as we neared our destination, so that when we finally reached the river two men who had engaged to go upon the expedition backed out from sheer fright.

Many obstacles had to be overcome in order to undertake the journey. Lumber for the boats, purchased at San Antonio, was shipped 150 miles

by rail to Del Rio, where it was made into three strong, flat-bottomed rowboats, each 13 feet long and 3 feet wide, their bottoms protected with longitudinal cleats to provide against the constant scraping over rocks. The finished boats were sent nearly 200 miles by rail to Marfa, where they were placed upon hay wagons and hauled overland 75 miles due south across the desert to the river at Presidio del Norte.

For the trip a crew of men who could shoot as well as row a boat had to be provided. By great good fortune we secured the services. of James MacMahon, an old-time trapper, and of Henry Ware, both of whom were frontiersmen of great strength, inured to hardships, skilled with oar and gun, and capable of unlimited endurance. These, with my nephew, Prentice Hill, a lad of 19, who was in for any venture, an extra boatman, a Mexican cook, and the writer, made a party of six, two men to a boat.

At Marfa, tents and other camp luxuries were packed and shipped back to Marathon. We carried only photographic and surveying apparatus, guns, ammunition, and supplies. No personal baggage was permitted except such as one could roll in his bedding. Tents may seem superfluous in the arid regin, but, strange to say, it rained for five nights in succession after we disposed of them. These rains proved a blessing, for they caused a sufficient rise in the river to save us an incalculable amount of drudgery in dragging boats over the shoals.

As far as Shafter our road to Presidio was over grass-coverd but waterless plains of not unpleasing aspect. Beyond Shafter the road suddenly descends from the upland grassy plains to one of the horrible ocotillo deserts characteristic of the outer basins of this portion of the Rio Grande Valley. These basins are old alluvial plains, covered with gravel and yellow adobe soils, extending far away from the river in successive terraces and reaching 500 feet above it. They are covered by a spiteful, repulsive vegetation, the chief feature of which is the ocotillo, a plant with small green leaves on long and slender stalks that reach above a substructure of lechuguilla, cactus, sotol, and other thorny plants, like serpents rising from a Hindu juggler's carpet. In this belt lies Presidio del Norte, a village with a few miserable adobe houses, opposite the older and larger Mexican town of Ojinaga.

Just above Presidio the Rio Conchos enters the Rio Grande from Chihuahua. This is a long stream, and brings the first permanent water to the main river. In fact, the Conchos is the mother stream of the Rio Grande. Above the mouth of the Conchos the Rio Grande was a dry sand bed. Below, it was a good stream 100 feet wide, with a strong current, which was to carry us along at a rate of 3 miles an hour. At this season of the year the Conchos is flooded by the summer rains that come from the Pacific. Our plans were based upon the assistance of one of these rises, and we were not disappointed. Two days after our arrival at Presidio the river rose a foot, giving exactly the desired stage of water.

At noon, October 5, 1899, we pushed out into the river at Presidio, and started on our long journey into the unknown. I do not claim to be the only man who has traveled the tortuous and dangerous channel of the frontier stream; for one man, and one only, James MacMahon, has made at least three trips down the river. Mine, however, was the first exploring expedition to pass the entire length of the canyons, and, with the exception of MacMahon's, was the only attempt that succeeded.

EL PAS- -11