226 Life in the Open 



lead my horse down the south side of Orizaba, sliding just 

 ahead and trying to keep from under him. I had un- 

 advisedly left the trail, and was trying to reach a goat, 

 when I found myself in a maze of fallen rock that had 

 been breaking off and rolling down the slide for ages. 

 Nevertheless, I commend the mountains by the proper 

 trail to the lover of mountain climbing and hunting, as, 

 should the goat elude him, he will bag one of the most 

 attractive and enduring views in all Southern California. 



The mountains rise very nearly in the centre of the 

 island, and from any point present the appearance of 

 great volcanoes, surrounded by lava-like rocks, yet all 

 about rise hills covered with chaparral, and verdant 

 rivers wind away here, there, and everywhere. My start- 

 ing-point had been a camp at Middle Ranch, that lies 

 under some cottonwoods at the base of the Cabrillo 

 Mountains, where they form the north slope of the 

 carton. It was the dead of winter, and the island was 

 carpeted with alfileria, wild grasses, and clover. The 

 canon stream ran merrily on, coming from some mysteri- 

 ous place and gaining in volume, rushing in beneath ar- 

 cades of cottonwoods, willows, and alders, whose tops 

 were often draped with masses of wild clematis, and so 

 reaching the sea, at a little beach on the south coast two 

 or three miles down the canon, up which the strong 

 west wind came, bearing the sound of breaking waves, 

 and the soothing melody of the sea. 



The wild goat was said to be in force at or near the 

 head of Cottonwood Cafion; so, with rifle-scabbards fast- 



