142 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



stopped in their tracks, and the wagon settled back 

 against the blocks. Two minutes' rest, and another 

 twenty yards: and so on for eight or ten spells. We 

 reached the top, and crossed the pass at 4600 feet. 



A fine outlook opened from the crest. Far to the 

 west lay my brace of giants, San Jacinto and San 

 Gorgonio, a sort of Gog and Magog. Behind and to 

 the east was a jumble of brown ranges, with pale 

 slips of desert showing here and there between them. 

 To the north I looked out over the Mojave Desert, 

 the twin sister of the Colorado, from this point a 

 wilderness of mountains, arid, aerial, almost phan- 

 tasmal. Beautiful, too, they were in their elemental 

 solitude, their delicacy of tone, and most so in their 

 air of mystery, their magnetic drawing on the imag- 

 ination. "Come," they seemed to say, "we are wait- 

 ing for you: have waited since eternity began. You 

 long to know us: you cannot guess what wealth we 

 hide. Come and take it if you dare: we dare you." 

 Yes; and if you yield, and go, you may indeed learn 

 their secret, perhaps a secret of gold such as never 

 yet dazzled man's eye and betrayed his soul: but 

 remember, you may never return to this other world, 

 the world of men, trees, brooks, all the companion- 

 able sights and sounds of homes and towns of com- 

 mon people. 



A mile of down grade brought us to Piiion Well. 

 Here is an abandoned, worked-out mine, with old 

 buildings and a scattering of other effects — tools, 

 pipe-lines, and so forth. The old well with rusty 

 pump is still in order, and now again we tasted good 

 water; and how good good water is, perhaps is only 



