CHAPTER XXIII 



THE ISLAND OF THE SACRED CROSS: SANTA CRUZ 



IT is said that Cabrillo often entered Prisoner's 

 Harbor in Santa Cruz. We tried to imagine 

 his caravel lying in the lee, as we beat up one 

 radiant morning from Anacapa in the good yacht San 

 Diego, Captain W. H. Burnham, the owner, in com- 

 mand. 



Above the anchorage the island mountains rose, 

 tier after tier, covered here and there with a thick 

 growth of pine, manzanita, and other trees, from 

 which waved filaments and pennants of moss. Lead- 

 ing away from the harbor was a deep canon, from 

 which, while we waited on the pier, where a large sign 

 gave notice that intruders were not wanted, the rumble 

 of wheels was heard, and a pair of sturdy horses ap- 

 peared, dragging a trap filled with ladies and children. 

 It so happened that we had letters to the owner, Jus- 

 tinian Caire, which insured us welcome to the island, 

 and to one of the most picturesque ranches on the 

 Pacific Coast. 



From the sea, Santa Cruz Island is a jumble of lofty 

 hills and mountains, with deep gorges and caiions 

 winding in every direction. Hidden away in the very 

 heart of this island is an ideal ranch, with a pronounced 

 foreign atmosphere, in a climate as perfect as that 

 of Avalon on the island to the south. 



Seated in the trap, with our host holding the reins, 



260 



