THE ISLAND OF THE SACRED CROSS 261 



we turned into the gorge, which in winter is the bed of 

 a rushing torrent that often fills the canon from side 

 to side, while from lateral caiions other streams sweep 

 down, adding to the mass of boulders. The road, now 

 comparatively smooth, followed this bed, and pres- 

 ently took us into a delightful region, winding through 

 lofty live oaks and beneath great sycamores and cot- 

 tonwoods. At every turn some new and striking bit 

 of scenery appeared. All the attractive spots had 

 names. One was Ravenswood, while others bore 

 liquid Spanish or Italian legends peculiarly appro- 

 priate and suggestive. 



The road wound upward; the horses now splashing 

 through the summer stream beneath gnarled and 

 picturesque oaks, now out into the open, where the 

 sun poured down through rifts in the caiion beneath 

 a sky of tender blue; then plunging into the narrow 

 canon again, where the walls grew lofty and precipi- 

 tous, shutting out the glare of the sunlight; and beyond 

 rose the crests of hills, one above another. A stranger 

 would never have suspected that this stream bed, this 

 narrow gorge, cut through the solid rock of the range, 

 led to so charming a region, as at every turn the scenery 

 seemed to grow wilder and the sides of the canon more 

 precipitous. Here a huge amphitheatre had been 

 eaten out by the elements, down which the winter 

 streams leaped in a series of cascades and waterfalls. 

 The hills were sere and brown in their summer coat- 

 ing, but in the cafion, brakes and ferns grew luxuriantly, 

 and various summer wild flowers gave color to the scene. 



Three miles of this, and the charming caiion road 

 came to an abrupt end. The cafion sides and the 

 mountains suddenly melted away, and the horses 



