158 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



lunar in their look of geologic age and dreariness. A 

 thread-like line that skirted the lake bed and faded 

 in a gap of the hills marked the road to Amboy, forty 

 miles away, Dale's shortest link with the rest of the 

 world. 



Capping their hospitalities to me, my good friends 

 would not allow me even to settle for Kaweah's 

 provender, saying that "the Company" expected 

 to take care of little things like that. It is unlikely 

 that these pages will meet the eye of the Croesus 

 who counts this bagatelle of a gold mine among his 

 numberless "properties" — his name is one at 

 which Wall Street holds its breath — but anyway I 

 hereby make acknowledgment of my obligation. 



We left Dale amid the good wishes of a score of 

 the men, who were gathered before the eating-house 

 ready for the stampede at sound of the breakfast 

 bell. One or two of them I met again at later stages 

 of my journey, and was amused to learn what droll 

 rumors had been in circulation regarding my object 

 in coming to Dale. Your miner must have his little 

 mystery, and if needful will hatch one for himself. 

 I was even credited with being the agent of mighty 

 financial interests, perhaps — solemnizing thought 

 — Croesus himself in disguise. 



The "blind pig" of the suburbs was already astir 

 as I passed, and was as portly a pig as could be ex- 

 pected. The few sentences that passed while I 

 watered Kaweah showed that he was a suspicious 

 pig too, which was not surprising in these times 

 when even deputy sheriffs sometimes are unfriendly 

 to pork. My road led eastward through a narrow 



