TO PINON WELL 141 



scenes and lands far different from this. All these old 

 friends looked wonderfully kindly, and when I halted 

 and listened to the breeze humming in the pifions 

 it cost me a pang to think that I was in for months, 

 possibly years, of life in a treeless land, and I won- 

 dered how I, whose ancestor must have been a dryad, 

 should ever tolerate it. 



At a point where a side caiion ran off to the west I 

 noticed a weather-beaten sign-board showing that 

 the Dewey Mine lay up there. This "mine," it 

 seems, was a notorious case of "salting" (that is, 

 baiting a worthless "prospect" with pieces of rich 

 ore), a fraud that nearly came off, but not quite. 

 Even costly machinery was installed in the effort to 

 carry the bluff through. Emmons could not recall 

 the fate of the promoters of the swindle, but we 

 agreed in hoping that the "darned skunks" were at 

 that moment unpleasantly engaged with a pile of 

 oakum. 



We were now close to the summit of the ridge, but 

 the steepest rise remained to be climbed. Emmons 

 rested his team while he looked carefully over the 

 running-gear of the wagon: then attached brake- 

 logs to the rear wheels. When all was ready he 

 climbed to his perch, gathered the lines, cast a 

 shrewd eye over the "road" that rose at a sharp 

 angle ahead, and remarked in a casual tone, "Now, 

 gals," at the same moment throwing off the brake. 

 The well-drilled team responded. The trace-chains 

 grated, the wheels screeched against the boulders, 

 and the huge wagon crawled up the grade for twenty 

 yards. The brake came on with a thump, the horses 



