i66 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



a distant mesa. It was the topmost crest of San 

 Gorgonio, the thousand feet or so by which it over- 

 tops the two-mile mark. 



I was now again approaching the so-called mud 

 hills which here form the inner barrier before reach- 

 ing the open levels of the Colorado Desert. Presently 

 the road passed into a gorge framed by high white 

 cliffs. In this peculiar formation the elements find 

 free play, and they have made the most of the oppor- 

 tunity. One can hardly credit those plodding work- 

 men, water, wind, and frost, with these spectacular 

 forms, which seem more in the style of Vulcan's art. 

 Thunderbolts might have riven these vast perpen- 

 dicular scars, these crumbling turrets and threaten- 

 ing towers, which hint more of dynamics than of 

 slow erosion. 



A mile down the caiion we found ourselves at 

 Shafer's Well. It was only mid-morning, so there 

 was time for a good rest. I threw oiif the saddle and 

 left Kaweah to pick what he chose out of a scatter- 

 ing of hay that some prodigal team had wasted, 

 while I niched myself into a scrap of shade and 

 watched, between dozes, the antics of a troupe of 

 chipmunks. These jolly little scamps, hardly bigger 

 than mice, are the most entertaining of the whole 

 Sciurus tribe (which is a good deal to say when one 

 remembers the Douglas squirrel of the Sierra). Their 

 impudence is delicious, quite in the style of the 

 Artful Dodger. They are practical jokes incarnate, 

 and there is something positively wicked in the cock 

 of their tails. 



The cool of evening was still some hours away 



