Hard Riding in California 361 



of it, especially on the north coast, has a coat- 

 ing of ironwood, manzanita, greasewood, and 

 other bushes that form an almost impenetrable 

 maze, locked and interlocked so closely that I 

 have on more than one occasion been so in- 

 volved that my horse could not move and it was 

 simply a question of cutting him out. 



Nearly the entire island at this time was laid 

 out along the divides with low brush fences 

 sufficient to form runways and lead the sheep 

 down to certain caiions where the shearing was 

 to be held. This year it was at the mouth of a 

 cauon on the north coast. The herders, mostly 

 Mexicans, Indians, and a few Americans, started 

 in from Middle Eanch and in long lines headed 

 in that direction. Almost immediately rough 

 riding, that should have been seen to be appre- 

 ciated, began. Whitley was a short, wiry man, 

 straight as an arrow, rather inclined to be 

 fleshy, but as light as possible on a horse. As 

 he swung himself into the saddle Mexican Joe, 

 Eamirez, and a score of others with names sug- 

 gestive of the grandees of Spain, fell in, and half 

 concealed by the cloud of dust, moved up the 

 canon. Some took the arroyo, others the side 

 of Black Jack, that rose like a wall, covered 

 with stones and cactus, while others again, in- 

 cluding Whitley and the gringo, myself, the 

 brush to the right. 



The caiion side to the right was cut by myriads 



