272 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 
The Indians near my camp were fishing in 
a small mountain-stream, if baling out fish by 
the bucketful could be called fishing. Round- 
fish (Coregomis quadrilateralis) and brook-trout 
(fario stellatus) were in such masses (I cannot 
find a better word) that we dipped out, with 
baskets and our hands, in ten minutes, enough 
fish to fill two large iron pails that we carried 
with us. How such hosts of fish obtain food, or 
where they find room to deposit their ova, are 
mysteries. The Indians were splitting and dry- 
ing them in the sun strung on long peeled rods. 
May 19th.—Had no trouble with these Indians. 
Hire two of them to aid me in again crossing the 
Klamath river, where it runs from the upper into 
the lower Klamath lake. For the first four miles 
we ascend a steep mountain, rather thickly tim- 
bered. Jilled a grey deer, and saw a splendid 
herd of wapiti; but the bell frightened them, so I 
did not get a shot. Cross the ridge, and descend 
on an open grassy flat, surrounding the lower 
Klamath lake, which I should say, at a rough 
guess, is thirty miles in circumference. It is in 
reality more like a huge swamp than a lake; 
simply patches of open water, peeping out from 
a rank growth of rushes at least twelve feet in 
height. 
I should think this place must be the ‘ head 
