44 Life in the Open 



I followed the path, so called by courtesy. There had 

 been one, but the chaparral had closed in upon it like 

 the waves of a sea, and in ten minutes my faithful 

 and well-trained horse was butting through and I was 

 swept off and carried away. I then took the animal by 

 the tail and fell into his wake, and so we literally butted 

 up the side of the mountain several hundred feet until 

 the semblance of a trail became more evident, when I 

 again mounted. We were on the side of a deep and well 

 wooded cafion, a vast basin of green without a break, 

 reaching up to the summit nearly four thousand feet. 

 Already I could see over the hills and look down into the 

 San Gabriel Valley, while the back and distant peaks of 

 the Sierras began to unfold and range into line. 



My guide now took the hounds down the slopes and 

 began to work up the cafion, while I kept along the trail, 

 that was a mere depression in the chaparral. Out of the 

 gulf of green now came the splendid baying of a hound, 

 a bay of inquiry, answered presently by another not far 

 distant, taken up by still another, and far below me I 

 could see the low chaparral waving as they worked 

 along. I gradually moved upward ; now skirting the 

 cafion and where occasion offered making a zigzag 

 climb ; now going ahead to break down the lilac brush 

 or to push the greasewood aside for my patient horse, 

 then climbing into the big Mexican saddle to sit, rifle 

 over the pommel, and watch in silence for a deer. 



Again came the flute-like baying, growing in intensity 

 until there was a continuous volley of sounds which re- 



