FIGTREE JOHN TO BOREGO SPRINGS 199 



The water at Seventeen Palms is a mere seepage, 

 found in two small holes. If the holes were kept 

 cleaned out for a day or two, probably the quality 

 of the liquid would improve, though at best it would 

 be strongly alkaline. At this time they were slimy 

 and ill-smelling, and the water, which was brown, 

 bitter, and nauseating, would have been dangerous 

 to drink unboiled. Kaweah, however, drank eagerly 

 when I had cleaned out one of the holes, though he 

 is a gentlemanly horse, quite fastidious about his 

 water. My small canteen was still full, but as it 

 must carry me on to Borego Springs I used this un- 

 pleasant stuff, carefully strained, for my cooking. 

 Rice boiled in it was thoroughly disgusting in color 

 and taste; no amount of sugar could render it more 

 than just bearable. The tea had a dirty gray curdle 

 and a flavor like bilge, and when I tried cocoa as an 

 alternative the mixture promptly went black. 



Traces of former visitors were a rusty stove, 

 abandoned, I guessed, by some survey party who 

 ' travelled de luxe with cooks and water-barrels (per- 

 haps the Government surveyors whose token I found 

 near by in the shape of a bench-mark recording 

 417 feet); and an assayer's card nailed on a palm. 

 The usual cans and bottles were in evidence, but in 

 no such profusion as at most of these old camping 

 spots. The locality does not attract prospectors, 

 being, I fancy, scanty of valuable minerals; there is 

 little to interest hunters; and the bad water, with 

 scarcity of forage, puts a general ban on the place. 

 A few small mesquits with meagre show of beans, 

 and a nibbling of salt-grass, helped out Kaweah's 



