i62 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



tance of water that by a final effort he might have 

 reached it. 



It was just sunset when I caught sight of a cotton- 

 wood in a cleft of the cafion wall. In a few minutes 

 we were at Cottonwood Springs, among shady trees 

 and with excellent water in abundance. We had 

 made thirty miles of extra tiring travel, and I re- 

 solved to stop for a day and enjoy the beauty of the 

 spot. But when, after we had drunk our fill, I 

 searched for pasturage, the pleasing prospect faded. 

 I had been told that I should find grass in plenty 

 here, but except for a few scraps of half -dead "fila- 

 ree" there was nothing to serve for forage. For to- 

 night we must make the best of a bad job, and in 

 the morning push on to Mecca, twenty-five miles 

 away. With compunction I picketed Kaweah for the 

 night on his meagre billet, he watching me with 

 anxious gaze as I moved away. 



I ate a cold supper, drank about five gallons of 

 water, smoked a pipe, and turned in, not before en- 

 joying a shower-bath of the desert sort, by means of 

 my tin drinking cup. With musical rustle of cotton- 

 woods I was wafted to luxurious sleep. 



As I was saddling up for an early start, a Crusoe- 

 like figure appeared on the hill above a doorless 

 cabin that I had decided to be uninhabited. The old 

 man proved to be a caretaker in charge of the ma- 

 chinery which pumps water from this place to a 

 mine eighteen miles to the east. (Such are the diffi- 

 culties that must often be overcome before these 

 desert mines can be worked.) Crusoe seeming 

 friendly, and urging a longer stay, I explained my 



