MECCA TO FIGTREE JOHN 171 



perpendicular valances from projecting ledges where 

 water had trickled over the cliff face ; the work, one 

 might fancy, of some race of gnomes or fairy cliff- 

 dwellers, who inhabited the crannies of the wall and 

 wove this airy grill to screen their privacy. 



After some miles I dismounted and sat down in 

 the strip of shade at the foot of the cliff. The silence 

 was profound. No breeze penetrated thus far, no 

 rustle of wing, piping of insect, nor hint of delicate 

 footfall broke the trance-like stillness. The dead air 

 and the pressure of heat in that confined space 

 added to the feeling of absolute solitude. Only the 

 swing of an eagle across the narrow ribbon of sky 

 told of life, motion, the sentient in Nature. On the 

 sand near by lay the carcass of a raven. Then, mo- 

 mentarily breaking the spell, from some ledge far 

 overhead came a shower of pearl-like notes, the 

 sweet, unvarying phrase of the caiion wren, plain- 

 tive, beseeching, like Orpheus's farewell to Eurydice. 



At this season there was no water in the cafion, 

 though in winter a feeble trickle is sometimes forced 

 to the surface by an outcropping ledge of granite. 

 My canteen supplied my own needs, but Kaweah 

 seemed unhappy and must have longed to drink. 

 So I refrained from exploring farther than some four 

 miles of the caiion, which continued to wind on, 

 apparently into the heart of the mountain. On the 

 return I noted a few clumps of the rare Aster orcuttii 

 still holding their large lavender blossoms, the only 

 flowers and almost the only plants that the place 

 afforded. 



Halfway down the cafion a hot wind met us. It 



