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Show 42 BY PATH AND TRAIL. ble land stolen from the mountain present a dozen con trasts of color in the evergreen foliage of the tropical trees and vegetable plants. The red river of the Urique, after emerging from the great canyon, flows gently and placidly through the peaceful village. The river is not truly a deep, clay red not the red of shale and earth mixed but the red of peroxide of iron and copper, the sang- du- boeuf of Oriental ceramics. Eushing over ir regular beds of gravel and boulders and by rock- ribbed walls, it cuts and carries with it through hundreds of miles red sands of shale, granite and porphyry, red rust-ings of iron and grits of garnet and carnelian agate. The evening of the next day after entering the quaint and picturesque town, I stood on a ledge overlooking the narrow valley and again saw the long, snake- like shadows of the Suaharos creeping slowly up the side of the opposite mountain. The air was preternaturally still and was filled with the reflected glory of the departing sun. The sky to the east was like a lake of blood, and under it the ancient mountains were colored in deep pur ple and violet. The sun was an enormous ball of fire floating in the descending heavens and above it were banks of clouds through which flashes of bloody light came and at times hung to their fringes. Just before the sun plunged behind its own horizon its light pene trated the motionless clouds in spires, and when the sun dipped and was lost, the spires of glory quivered in the heavens and waves of red and amber light rolled over the atmospheric sea. Sharply outlined to my right was the mountain rising above the Urique like a crouching lion and holding in its outstretched and open paw the unknown and attractive little village. It is only nine of the night, but all lights are out and |