Coaching at Santa Catalina 277 



splendid road, that in point of insular scenery and 

 contrast between mountain and ocean has no equal. 



The start is made at Avalon, the coach pulling up to 

 the hotels in the morning, the passengers booked taking 

 their places soon after nine. The drivers are charac- 

 ters ; all have histories. One was a driver in the Ari- 

 zona mountains for years his stories of hold-ups and 

 adventures would fill a volume ; another is an old 

 Yosemite driver, familiar with curves, precipices, and 

 dizzy trails men who never get "rattled," and who 

 thoroughly understand their business. The road takes 

 us up a street of the little town, turns sharply, rounds a 

 point reaching into the sea, and in a few moments we 

 are high above Avalon, its crescent bay standing out in 

 relief, the blue Pacific stretching away in every direc- 

 tion. A sudden turn is made and the road is seen 

 climbing a shelf on the side of Descanso Cafion that 

 reaches the sea parallel to Grand Cafton, separated 

 from it by a spur of the mountains. The road is per- 

 fect, and the horses are obliged to walk slowly to the 

 summit, perhaps three miles by the winding road. At 

 every turn the driver has a story to fascinate the 

 tenderfoot on the box seat. 



" I call this Rattlesnake Point," said the driver, flick- 

 ing his whip at the place which appeared to hang over 

 the ocean, one thousand feet below. 



" Why ? " asked the young lady who had the box 



seat. 



" Why," echoed the driver, glancing at her, " as I 



