[Editorial] cañon -> canyon

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@@ -47,7 +47,7 @@
 				<p>Nevada flew to the door, and said to the maid:</p>
 				<p>“You bet we’ll go. I’ll answer for Miss Barbara. Tell the boy to say to <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Warren, ‘You bet we’ll go.’ ”</p>
 				<p>“Nevada,” called old Jerome, “pardon me, my dear, but wouldn’t it be as well to send him a note in reply? Just a line would do.”</p>
-				<p>“No, I won’t bother about that,” said Nevada, gayly. “Gilbert will understand⁠—he always does. I never rode in an automobile in my life; but I’ve paddled a canoe down Little Devil River through the Lost Horse Cañon, and if it’s any livelier than that I’d like to know!”</p>
+				<p>“No, I won’t bother about that,” said Nevada, gayly. “Gilbert will understand⁠—he always does. I never rode in an automobile in my life; but I’ve paddled a canoe down Little Devil River through the Lost Horse Canyon, and if it’s any livelier than that I’d like to know!”</p>
 			</section>
 			<section id="schools-and-schools-3" epub:type="chapter">
 				<h3 epub:type="title z3998:roman">III</h3>

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@@ -24,7 +24,7 @@
 			<p>They picked their way through the crowd to a hotel, and drifted, as by a natural law, to the bar.</p>
 			<p>“Speak up,” invited Greenbrier.</p>
 			<p>“A dry Martini,” said Merritt.</p>
-			<p>“Oh, Lord!” cried Greenbrier; “and yet me and you once saw the same pink Gila monsters crawling up the walls of the same hotel in Cañon Diablo! A dry⁠—but let that pass. Whiskey straight⁠—and they’re on you.”</p>
+			<p>“Oh, Lord!” cried Greenbrier; “and yet me and you once saw the same pink Gila monsters crawling up the walls of the same hotel in Canyon Diablo! A dry⁠—but let that pass. Whiskey straight⁠—and they’re on you.”</p>
 			<p>Merritt smiled, and paid.</p>
 			<p>They lunched in a small extension of the dining room that connected with the café. Merritt dexterously diverted his friend’s choice, that hovered over ham and eggs, to a purée of celery, a salmon cutlet, a partridge pie and a desirable salad.</p>
 			<p>“On the day,” said Greenbrier, grieved and thunderous, “when I can’t hold but one drink before eating when I meet a friend I ain’t seen in eight years at a 2 by 4 table in a thirty-cent town at 1 o’clock on the third day of the week, I want nine broncos to kick me forty times over a 640-acre section of land. Get them statistics?”</p>

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@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<section id="thimble-thimble" epub:type="volume se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Thimble, Thimble</h2>
 			<p>These are the directions for finding the office of Carteret &amp; Carteret, Mill Supplies and Leather Belting:</p>
-			<p>You follow the Broadway trail down until you pass the Crosstown Line, the Bread Line, and the Dead Line, and come to the Big Cañons of the Moneygrubber Tribe. Then you turn to the left, to the right, dodge a push-cart and the tongue of a two-ton four-horse dray and hop, skip, and jump to a granite ledge on the side of a twenty-one-story synthetic mountain of stone and iron. In the twelfth story is the office of Carteret &amp; Carteret. The factory where they make the mill supplies and leather belting is in Brooklyn. Those commodities⁠—to say nothing of Brooklyn⁠—not being of interest to you, let us hold the incidents within the confines of a one-act, one-scene play, thereby lessening the toil of the reader and the expenditure of the publisher. So, if you have the courage to face four pages of type and Carteret &amp; Carteret’s office boy, Percival, you shall sit on a varnished chair in the inner office and peep at the little comedy of the Old Nigger Man, the Hunting-Case Watch, and the Open-Faced Question⁠—mostly borrowed from the late <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Frank Stockton, as you will conclude.</p>
+			<p>You follow the Broadway trail down until you pass the Crosstown Line, the Bread Line, and the Dead Line, and come to the Big Canyons of the Moneygrubber Tribe. Then you turn to the left, to the right, dodge a push-cart and the tongue of a two-ton four-horse dray and hop, skip, and jump to a granite ledge on the side of a twenty-one-story synthetic mountain of stone and iron. In the twelfth story is the office of Carteret &amp; Carteret. The factory where they make the mill supplies and leather belting is in Brooklyn. Those commodities⁠—to say nothing of Brooklyn⁠—not being of interest to you, let us hold the incidents within the confines of a one-act, one-scene play, thereby lessening the toil of the reader and the expenditure of the publisher. So, if you have the courage to face four pages of type and Carteret &amp; Carteret’s office boy, Percival, you shall sit on a varnished chair in the inner office and peep at the little comedy of the Old Nigger Man, the Hunting-Case Watch, and the Open-Faced Question⁠—mostly borrowed from the late <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Frank Stockton, as you will conclude.</p>
 			<p>First, biography (but pared to the quick) must intervene. I am for the inverted sugar-coated quinine pill⁠—the bitter on the outside.</p>
 			<p>The Carterets were, or was (Columbia College professors please rule), an old Virginia family. Long time ago the gentlemen of the family had worn lace ruffles and carried tinless foils and owned plantations and had slaves to burn. But the war had greatly reduced their holdings. (Of course you can perceive at once that this flavor has been shoplifted from <abbr>Mr.</abbr> <abbr class="name">F.</abbr> Hopkinson Smith, in spite of the “et” after “Carter.”) Well, anyhow:</p>
 			<p>In digging up the Carteret history I shall not take you farther back than the year 1620. The two original American Carterets came over in that year, but by different means of transportation. One brother, named John, came in the <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Mayflower</i> and became a Pilgrim Father. You’ve seen his picture on the covers of the Thanksgiving magazines, hunting turkeys in the deep snow with a blunderbuss. Blandford Carteret, the other brother, crossed the pond in his own brigantine, landed on the Virginia coast, and became an <abbr class="initialism">FFV</abbr>. John became distinguished for piety and shrewdness in business; Blandford for his pride, juleps; marksmanship, and vast slave-cultivated plantations.</p>