236 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 



On cither side the hills were covered with wild 

 oat as thick as it could grow ; its golden-yellow 

 tints, contrasting with the dark glossy-green of 

 the cypress, the oak, and the manzanata, had an 

 indescribably charming effect. As we advanced 

 the valley gradually narrowed, until it became a 

 mere canon (the Spanish for funnel), shut in by 

 vast masses of rock that looked like heaps of 

 slag and cinder bare, black, and treeless. A 

 small stream of bitter, dark, intensely salt water 

 trickled slowly through the gorge. 



Following a rough kind of road, that led up 

 the base of the hills for about two miles, we en- 

 tered what I imagine was the crater of an extinct 

 volcano ; nearly circular, about a mile in dia- 

 meter, and shut in on every side by columnar 

 w.'ills of basalt. There was a weird desolation 

 about the place that forcibly reminded me of the 

 Wolf's Glen in Der Freischiitz a fit haunt for 

 Zamiel ! Scarce a trace of forest-life was to be 

 seen, not a tree or flower; everything looked 

 scorched and cinderous, like the debris of a ter- 

 rible fire, and smelt like a limekiln on a sum- 

 mer-night. A long narrow house, resembling 

 a cattle-shed, stood in the centre of this circle. 



' Waal, Cap'en, I guess we've made the ranch 

 anyhow,' said the Major, as we drew up at the 



