280 Recreations of a Sportsman 



know that by the line of saddled bronchos that 

 stood without. They had an air of hopeless 

 disgust, and all united in kicking at a little 

 squealing mare with the Tierra Alta brand. The 

 wind was offshore, and as hot as wind always 

 is that conies through the Cajon Pass from the 

 desert. All summer it had been coming in cool, 

 bracing, with the tang of the sea, but now it had 

 given out, and an old man in the patio grum- 

 bled softly and muttered " Muclio calor." The 

 line of silvery fog that had been stealing in and 

 out, night and morning, in the long summer, 

 had failed; the tall eucalyptus plumes were 

 motionless, and the only sign of life was the 

 lofty spectral dust spouts careening far down 

 the valley by Temescal. 



By all these signs you might know that au- 

 tumn had come in California, and autumn means 

 the vintage. The mesa, that in the summer time 

 assumes a brown tint, took on a lighter hue. 

 The tenderfoot said the land looked like a desert 

 burnt out ; but Sefior Gonzales, being " built 

 that way," saw rare beauties of tint, shade, and 

 color in this burnt vegetation. Its grays, browns, 

 pinks, and yellows appealed to him in some way, 

 and the more burnt out California appeared in 

 autumn, the more he loved it. But if a tender- 

 foot held him up, and demanded why, he fell 

 back on " Quien sabef " He really did not 

 know, and perhaps it was too much to ask this 



