370 THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA 



withered. Horses, cattle, and sheep grew thinner 

 day by day, nibbling at bushes and weeds, along 

 the shallowing edges of streams, many of which 

 were dried up altogether, for the first time since 

 the settlement of the country. 



In the course of a trip I made during the sum 

 mer of that year through Monterey, San Luis 

 Obispo, Santa Barbara, Ventura, and Los Angeles 

 counties, the deplorable effects of the drought were 

 everywhere visible leafless fields, dead and dying 

 cattle, dead bees, and half-dead people with dusty, 

 doleful faces. Even the birds and squirrels were 

 in distress, though their suffering was less pain 

 fully apparent than that of the poor cattle. These 

 were falling one by one in slow, sure starvation 

 along the banks of the hot, sluggish streams, while 

 thousands of buzzards correspondingly fat were 

 sailing above them, or standing gorged on the 

 ground beneath the trees, waiting with easy faith 

 for fresh carcasses. The quails, prudently consid 

 ering the hard times, abandoned all thought of 

 pairing. They were too poor to marry, and so 

 continued in flocks all through the year without 

 attempting to rear young. The ground-squirrels, 

 though an exceptionally industrious and enterpris 

 ing race, as every farmer knows, were hard pushed 

 for a living; not a fresh leaf or seed was to be 

 found save in the trees, whose bossy masses of 

 dark green foliage presented a striking contrast 

 to the ashen baldness of the ground beneath them. 

 The squirrels, leaving their accustomed feeding- 

 grounds, betook themselves to the leafy oaks to 

 gnaw out the acorn stores of the provident wood- 



