26 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



sycamore toppled over and was whirled off to make 

 camp-fires for fortunate prospectors. 



Daylight came, and with it the end of my fueL 

 By now the cave was worthless: water poured in 

 steady streams from roof and walls, and the floor 

 had become a pool. Among my salvaged traps was 

 a little three-by-six-foot tent of light waterproof 

 stuff which I carry on winter horseback trips. This I 

 pitched on the highest spot available, first laying a 

 thick stratum of arrowweed over the sodden ground. 

 Inside I spread half a bale of dry hay: then crept in 

 and sat tight. 



This was Sunday. It passed ; also Monday, Tues- 

 day, and Wednesday, and not for a moment did the 

 storm hold off. I read, smoked, ate, slept, and dashed 

 out when necessary to attend to Kaweah or drive 

 the tent-stakes deeper into the spongy earth. When 

 I awoke on Thursday a yellow glow was brightening 

 my tentlet. It was the sun, shining in the old, whole- 

 hearted, California way, and I hurried out to renew 

 acquaintance. Looking up the cafion there was little 

 that I recognized. The place where the other tent 

 had stood could be known by a scrap of canvas pro- 

 jecting above a new creek-Tbed of dazzling, freshly 

 scoured granite, while Kaweah's former quarters 

 were submerged in mid-stream. 



In the afternoon came Pablo, Marcos, and Miguel, 

 to round up their remaining cattle and mourn the 

 six or eight head that had vanished in the storm 

 together with all their possibilities of pesos, came, 

 and cuero. Finding me in the act of replenishing the 

 bean-pot they expressed slight Indian surprise, and 



