To the Gulf of Cortez 



And then we talked. " The Trinidad Val- 

 ley is not my country," said Anastasio ; "this 

 is my country. Yonder, under that red rock 

 on the mountain side, about five miles away, 

 there is a spring in the gulch on the edge of 

 the desert. I was born there, and lived there 

 twenty years with my father's family. Here 

 where your camp is" — about twenty feet square 

 of slide-rock level enough to stand on — "we 

 sowed crops. We scraped a hole between 

 the stones with our hands, put in squash 

 seeds, watered them by carrying water from 

 the spring in our hands and raised several 

 hills." 



So he went on, not in so connected a way, 

 but showing, bit by bit, his manner of life. 

 His tribe, which he called the Kil-ee-ou, must 

 have been very restricted in numbers at best. 

 His territory was a few leagues of desert, or 

 almost desert, mountains, every yard of which 

 he knew by heart, while just over the ridge 

 dwelt the Cocopahs, his mortal enemies. 

 Sometimes a score of men armed with bows 

 would start a tribal hunt for deer, though the 

 sheep were beyond their means of attack. 

 Sometimes they journeyed a few leagues to 

 the Gulf to eat mussels. We could see the 



77 



