OUR VALLEY. 5 



the brush-covered side of the valley where the mi- 

 grants flocked, around the circle through a great 

 vineyard in the middle of the valley, past a pond 

 where the feathered settlers gathered to bathe, 

 and so back home to the oaks again. 



I liked to start out in the freshness of the morn- 

 ing, when the fog was breaking up into buff clouds 

 over the mountains and drawing off in veils over 

 the peaks. The brush we passed through was 

 full of glistening spiders' webs, and in the open 

 the grass was overlaid with disks of cobweb, flash- 

 ing rainbow colors in the sun. 



As we loped gayly along down the curving road, 

 a startled quail would call out, "Who-are-you'-ah ? 

 who-are-you'-ah ? " and another would cry " quit " 

 in sharp warning tones ; while a pair would scud 

 across the road like little hens, ahead of the horse ; 

 or perhaps a covey would start up and whirr over 

 the hillside. The sound of Canello's flying hoofs 

 would often rouse a long-eared jack-rabbit, who 

 with long leaps would go bounding over the flow- 

 ers, to disappear in the brush. 



The narrow road wound through the dense bushy 

 undergrowth known as ' chaparral,' and as Canello 

 galloped round the sharp curves I had to bend 

 low under the sweeping branches, keeping alert 

 for birds and animals, as well as Mexicans and 

 Indians that we might meet. 



This corner of the valley was the mouth of Twin 

 Oaks Canyon, and was a forest of brush, alive with 



