COUGAR HUNTING IN SONORA 251 



stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had probably 

 witnessed more than one century, flung their 

 gnarled arms over a carpet of most luxuriant 

 grass, while we continued on to yet wilder scenes 

 of sylvan solitude. Later, upon gaining the top 

 of a summit in the range, we reined up to view 

 the landscape. On all sides rolled away the 

 mighty Sierras, and, looking to the limit of the 

 human eye, the rugged peaks faded away until 

 they melted into the horizon. Far beneath us, 

 winding its way through the great range, sped 

 the murmuring waters of the Rio Bonito (pretty 

 river). The beams of the sinking sun shot its 

 rays of broken and discolored light upon its 

 limpid waters, turning them to a mass of quiver- 

 ing and shifting colors that alternated from 

 bronze to copper and from copper to silver azure. 

 The surrounding hills glowed with a warm, deep 

 violet tint. Away in the distance a huge mass of 

 rock stood out to view, wrapped in a veil of tender 

 pink. The whole scene might well have been the 

 fantastic dream of some imaginative painter 

 whose ambition had soared beyond the limits of 

 human skill. In my opinion there is no range 

 in the world that presents the variety of rugged- 

 ness as do the Sierra JMadres. After witnessing 

 the splendid spectacle we resumed our way, slow- 



