196 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



be must break its own road. The amount of such 

 travel may be gauged from the reply of the store- 

 keeper at Mecca to my question whether he knew 

 of any one thereabout who had lately crossed this 

 piece of country and could give me directions. 

 "Seventeen Palms?" he said. "No, I have n't 

 heard of any one coming that way for six months." 

 The only guiding marks I saw were, once or twice, 

 a so-called monument — chance bits of stone which 

 the trained eye may know to have been placed by 

 man, not Nature — marking the best route across 

 the wider washes. 



For long hours of glare and heat I pushed on, some- 

 times riding, sometimes leading Kaweah, who plod- 

 ded steadily along like the loyal comrade he has 

 ever shown himself to be. Once a mirage suddenly 

 grew before me, the common one of a sheet of water 

 a few yards ahead ; and once I saw a flicker of some- 

 thing white a mile away, which may have been a 

 band of antelope. About ten o'clock I found a few 

 scraps of blue-stem (galleta grass) and burro-weed 

 to eke out Kaweah's scanty barley, and we stopped 

 to rest and lunch. In saying that there was no insect 

 life in these parts I overlooked the ant. I should like 

 to know whether Arctic travellers do not find these 

 enterprising explorers always ahead of them. The 

 moment I sat down they converged on me. Evi- 

 dently the word was passed round that a fellow had 

 arrived and was eating hardtack over by the grease- 

 wood, and the speed with which every crumb was 

 whisked away showed that it was a notable event. 



A short half -hour was as long as I could afford, 



