772 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Oct. 15. 



rear, and beyond the shimmer we could see the 

 far-away stations we had passed in the early 

 hours of the day, which had been some lime 

 out of sight; and then it dawned upon us that 

 we were in the land of the mirage. We could 

 seemingly look so far away that it appeared 

 like a beautiful fairy-land; and the dancing of 

 the sunbeams seemed like the flitting to and 

 fro of the fairies. It was a'pleasure for me to 

 imagine such a land. I was lost in the coniim- 

 plation of its beauties; and, indeed, if tlii>; were 

 but the vestibule of heaven I longed to bi^ there. 



My intensely practical companion, however, 

 thought we'd better move on, and my airy 

 ideas came down with such a sudden thud 

 when I thought of his ton angels that ray 

 tongue refused utterance until we had entered 

 the thriving town of Bakersfield, and the 

 mirage had disappeared. Quite a number of 

 bee-keepers live within trading distance of this 

 city; and the conditions for honey production 

 are much the same as we find further north in 

 Tulare and Fresno Counties We could not 

 hunt up these good men, for we were now upon 

 a genuine stampede for the south; cool nights, 

 threatening skies; and still between us and our 

 home the frowning Tehachapai Mountains, 

 and the little less frowning San Fernando 

 range. 



We arrived in Bakersfield Saturday after- 

 noon; and, after laying in a new supply of 

 provisions, we resolved to push right along and 

 travel all day Sunday. We were aware that 

 "a Sabbath well spent meant a week of con- 



" WE STARTED FOR BAKERSFIELD." 



tent, and a joy for the toils of the morrow;" 

 and in all of our long journey we had traveled 

 on Sunday only where the necessities of feed 

 for our horses compelled us to do so for a few 

 hours. This time, soon after passing our Sun- 

 day-travel resolution, we left Bakersfield, and, 

 among the multitude of trails across the plains, 

 we easily succeeded in getting upon the wrong 

 one. Our next mishap was to get directions 

 from a drunken teamster who sent us into 

 what is locally known as the weed-patch, and 

 still further off our route. After toiling through 

 the sand until long after dark we camped 

 among the weeds; boiled our coffee, and warm- 



ed ourselves by a weed lire, and in our sleep 

 dreamed of weeds. 



Soon after breaking camp Sunday morning 

 an unforeseen circumstance presented Itself — 

 Reina went lame, and our progress the rest of 

 the day was extremely tedious. The drive 

 during the forenoon was relieved by seeing 

 now and then — more often then than now — a 

 vacant cabin. At one place among the weeds 

 we were suiprised to run across a small apiary 

 of about 20 colonies. The bees were at home, 

 and had a committee out to receive company in 

 their aggressive way; but the cabin near by 

 was vacant. We knew it was vacant, because 

 we could see through it about as easily as we 

 can see through an old-fashioned Eastern corn- 

 crib, and thus a weed-patcher lives. We did 

 finally find a good dwelling with an occupant, 

 and he gave us the gratifying intelligence that 

 we had traveled twelve miles further than 

 necessary. He kindly pointed out the road 

 which we could see for twenty miles ahead of 

 us. leading toward the Tejon (Ta-hone) Pass. 

 Not a rod of this country is interesting; and if 

 we were to choose a route for scenery it would 

 not be in the upper San Joaquin Valley. 



Water is a valuable element here, and is 

 plentiful after digging very deep into the earth. 

 An Italian weed-patcher loaned us the use of 

 his well, and gave us a lesson in hydraulics. A 

 large coil of rope lay upon the ground; the end 

 ran over a pulley to the bucket. When bucket, 

 and rope, after a long paying-out, had disap- 

 peared in the well, our Italian weed-patcher 

 pointed to a path that led out to- 

 ward Bakersfield, and told us to 

 take the end of the rope and travel 

 that way, and pull. He was to fire 

 a gun tu let us know when the 

 bucket was up. Wilder and I start- 

 ed for Bakersfield, 20 miles distant, 

 with the rope over our shoulders. 

 We traveled some time conversing 

 pleasantly by the way, and imag- 

 ined that we looked like the pic- 

 tures of Samson laboring under the 

 gates of Gaza. After a while we 

 began to speculate upon the near- 

 ness of that bucket to the surface. 

 It was heavy tugging; all of a sudden the 

 weight became so laborious that we desperately 

 tied the rope to a weed and returned to the 

 well. When we took in the situation we were 

 just mad. That miserable Italian, while wait- 

 ing for the bucket to arrive, went to sleep. We 

 shook him up lively, and, after yawning and 

 looking at his well, and seeing the water spilled 

 all around, he went tearing mad too. 



"Zee here!" he shouted; " yous alfiert Amer- 

 icanos, yous pull pull. Zee here! gone pottom 

 of zee well; pull up; py gar, yous pay zee hun- 

 ner tollar — zee hunner tollar, I zay." 

 Now, we had not the remotest idea of pulling: 



