AMONG THE CUT-THROATS 141 



anticipation stood on tip-toe. To be sure, aside 

 from the orchards there was nothing attractive 

 in the country around Wenatchee, but we felt sure 

 that it would be "better farther on." But it 

 wasn't. Possibly our aesthetic sense had suffered 

 from a stroke of paralysis; if not, a muddy river, 

 sage brush and alkali dust, brown, treeless hills 

 and a general air of desolation do not combine 

 to form an entrancing picture. To be sure, there 

 are spots of green where fruit-trees have been 

 planted and water from the river or from some 

 irrigation ditch is led in and out through the 

 orchard. But to one who has seen the beauty of 

 an eastern landscape, before whose eyes comes a 

 vision of stately trees and luxuriant meadows and 

 babbling brooks of clear, cold water, those little 

 dabs of green in the midst of wide stretches of 

 dreariness awaken pity and not admiration. There 

 is nothing either in the accommodations on the boat 

 or in the scenery to make the traveller long to 

 repeat his ride from Wenatchee to Chelan Falls. 

 It is said to be four miles from Chelan Falls, 

 on the Columbia River, to the foot of Lake Chelan. 

 We believe it, and would just as readily believe 

 that it is ten miles. The fact is that the miles 

 are perpendicular. You are either going up or 

 down all of the time. Lake Chelan lies four 

 hundred feet above the Columbia River, and the 

 road borders the stream through which Lake 

 Chelan discharges its waters. On second thought 



