Life in the Sierra Madre 213 



woods, and bays, forming a silent river of green that 

 wound down from the upper range, a river sinuous and 

 beautiful. I could see the islands of the Pacific fifty 

 miles away, and in the foreground the ranches, vineyards, 

 and gardens of the San Gabriel Valley, merging into 

 green hills to the right, and to the east melting away 

 into other and more distant valleys, telling of Pomona 

 and Chino. 



Directly behind me rose the wall of the Sierra Madre, 

 five thousand or six thousand feet in height, the first 

 range of the mountains that for forty miles reached 

 away to the desert. I could climb on to its face in a 

 few moments and lose myself in its dense investment 

 of chaparral, or I had the choice of three gateways im- 

 mediately at hand Millard's to the south, Negro im- 

 mediately behind, and the Arroyo Seco to the west. In 

 rainy seasons these canons bore raging streams of 

 water. Millard's was famous for its waterfall, and up 

 the arroyo for twenty miles or more there were long 

 stretches of rocky walls and mountain ranges merging 

 into dark and distant canons that seemed to wind away 

 like living things, to be lost in other ranges far beyond. 

 These mountain passes and the contiguous country be- 

 came my range; I learned to know them well, and the 

 fascination of the life, its absolute quiet, its tranquillity 

 and peace, the beauty of the scenery, took a strong hold 

 upon my imagination, and I could understand how 

 some men could turn their backs upon the roar of great 

 cities and live in the mountains. 



