166 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEB 



Here was the coveted Diamond Bar range. Cat- 

 tle, fat and sleek, cropped leisurely at the lush 

 grama grass. Cows, with wide-eyed, awkward 

 calves, long horned, inquisitive steers, lowering, 

 self -sufficient, massive bulls. "We ran through them 

 every day, and whereas on the east side we had 

 found the cattle small and lean, wild as deer and 

 scarcer, here they seemed to mind our presence not 

 at all. Mostly they merely raised their heads and 

 glanced indifferently at us as we passed, or if in our 

 line lumbered slowly off as we came up, to turn at 

 a little distance and gaze with mild curiosity at the 

 rare phenomenon of a man on foot. 



On these mesa runs, in scenes so strange to us, 

 so different from the barren east side or the heavily 

 timbered top of the range, a curious feeling of un- 

 reality came over one at times. It was as if field 

 and flower, the blue, brilliant sky, and the wild life 

 about, were one and all mere creations of our sub- 

 jectivity, with no distinct identity of their own, 

 mere strokes and shades in a masterpiece made 

 solely for our peculiar pleasure. 



Out in the morning, then lunch, then home again, 

 miles over the level, flower-studded mesa. That was 

 our daily schedule. Only, perhaps, on our return 

 run we would encounter, instead of cattle, a herd of 

 white tail deer. Sometimes they heard our care- 

 less approach and we caught merely a glimpse of 

 flashing bodies ascending some distant slope with 

 incredible leaps. Or we might come upon them un- 



