WILD LIFE IN CALIFORNIA 



23 



The roar of the rushing wind was so great 

 it fairly drowned all sound of the noisy auto 

 truck which was slowly bucking its way 

 through the flying grit, under the guidance 

 of the brave little woman at the wheel. How 

 she managed to keep the road or make head- 

 way against the terrific force of wind, I could 

 not understand. A short time before we 

 reached the point of full exposure to the force 

 of the gale, we noticed an auto running ahead 

 of us suddenly stop and turn around and go 

 back toward Palm Springs. Now we knew why 

 this was done. Further on an auto top would 

 have been no more than a plaything to the 

 forces there displaying their giant and merci- 

 less strength. 



I crouched down in the bottom of the truck 

 with bent head, holding my hat down with 

 both hands. What the others were doing 

 to protect themselves, I could not see. It was 

 useless to try to talk. I remember watching 

 miniature whirlwinds of sand and grit swirl- 

 ing around and over the sheet-iron floor of 

 the truck, wondering what the outcome of 

 the wild ride would be. Sometimes when an 

 extra heavy gust of wind would strike us 

 with terrific force it was very suggestive of 

 the possibility of being wrecked like a ship in 

 a gale at sea. 



The streams of sand and heavier particles 

 of rock substances that came flying through 

 the mountain pass in tremendous gusts were 

 as if nature had contrived a sand blast on 

 gigantic scale with which she designed to re- 

 model the surface of the earth. We were 

 approaching the mouth of this awful blast, 

 defined on the southerly side by a high point 

 of the mountain range that marked the turn 

 into the pass. So far we had not encountered 

 the full unbroken force of the swift-moving 

 sand and wind. Occasionally I ventured to 

 peek over the side of the car or over the 

 back of the front seat to note our progress, 

 but it was always with some punishment. I 

 now saw we were near to the point mentioned. 

 It did not seem possible for the machine to 

 be driven beyond it, so fierce were the gusts 

 of wind and so dense were the clouds of fly- 

 ing sand. Our little lady driver boldly drove 

 the car on. but when we dove into the awful 

 blast the shock was so great that either she 

 was fearful of going on or the truck was 

 stopped by the force of the gale. However 

 it was, she backed the machine into a less 

 exposed place. Just then an auto came flying 

 with the gale from around the point. The 

 occupant was the husband of our driver. He 

 proposed that we passengers get into his 

 machine and he would take us to the station, 

 but when his wife called attention to the fact 

 that although coming with the wind the top 

 of his machine was already wrecked, he ex- 

 changed places with her. After taking the 

 driver's seat he waited until there was a lull 

 in the blast and then drove on, and we 

 crouched down, seeking the best protection 

 we could find. How he managed to keep 

 his seat, control and direct the car was mar- 

 velous. The only protection he had was a 

 pair of goggles and the windshield of the 

 machine. Although the throttle of the ma- 



chine was wide open during all the trip, there 

 were times when the force of the gale would 

 slow us down to almost a walking pace, and 

 the car staggered so I was fearful of disaster, 

 if not a forced return to Palm Springs. The 

 latter was a proposition that I certainly would 

 have approved. However, the man triumphed 

 and finally landed us at the station, where the 

 effects of the gale were not so severely felt, 

 though even here, when I stepped out from 

 the shelter of the building, a gust of wind 

 carried me backward four or five feet. In 

 conversation with our last driver he declared 

 that his wife could not have made the last 

 part of the trip. He said that sand-storms 

 were not uncommon here, but this one was 

 the worst he had experienced. Beyond the 

 sand and dirt in my eyes, ears, hair, beard 

 and clothing, I was none the worse for the 

 experience. Now that it was over with I was 

 rather pleased that I had the opportunity of 

 experiencing a real desert sand-storm, but one 

 is enough and I will take care to avoid any 

 more in the future. 



As there was no waiting-room at the sta- 

 tion, which consisted of some sheds for 

 freight and a building which housed the 

 agent and his family and supplied a little 

 office room about five by eight for railroad 

 business, we passengers were permitted to go 

 into the little office for shelter to remain 

 until the trains that were to take on our 

 journeys came along. 



When we left Palm Springs our information 

 was that the train was three hours late, and 

 the stage driver delayed the departure from 

 the inn for a corresponding time, so we would 

 not have to wait at the station. When we 

 arrived, however, we found that the train 

 Itself was making slow headway against the 

 storm and was losing more time and would 

 not be there for at least an hour. Later on 

 the agent told us the train had not yet ar- 

 rived at Indio, and that it would take over an 

 hour under the conditions to reach White- 

 water after leaving the other place. To shorten 

 a long story of hopes and disappointments it 

 is only necessary to say that the train did not 

 pull into Whitewater until twenty-five min- 

 utes to 11 o'clock, a little over six hours be- 

 hind time. We made haste to get aboard and 

 the train was soon under way, headed into 

 the storm of wind which still prevailed, but 

 had abated somewhat in its fierceness. 



As expected, when we reached the summit 

 of the pass, where the moisture-laden atmos- 

 phere drawn from the ocean district met with 

 the cold temperature of the mountain tops, 

 there was a heavy precipitation of rain, caus- 

 ing a refreshing change in the atmosphere. 



Upon finding the conductor of the train, I 

 was informed that the car in which I had my 

 Pullman reservation to Oakland would go no 

 further than Los Angeles, as the train was too 

 late to make connections with the train 

 leaving that city for Oakland at 11:30. All 

 that could be done was to give me a berth 

 where I could 'sleep until 7 a. m. f then I 

 would have to make my way north as best I 

 could. 



