200 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



supper. With my back to a palm I hugged the shade 

 till the sun went down, then climbed to smoke a 

 pipe on the hillside and view the surroundings. 

 Without having been in Egypt or Arabia, I could 

 easily imagine myself to be looking down on a wady 

 of the Red Sea region. The abrupt gullies with banks 

 of sun-hardened clay, the gravel-strewed sands, the 

 shapeless brown foothills, the sparse thorny scrub, 

 the solitary group of palms, made up a scene much 

 more suggestive of Arabia Petrsea than of any part 

 of the American continent. Not less so was the 

 Oriental splendor of a gold and crimson sunset. 



A strong breeze began to blow down the cafion 

 about nightfall. I found a hollow in which I spread 

 my blankets (first despatching a warlike scorpion 

 that rushed out at me sparring away like a little 

 prizefighter) and slept excellently till daybreak. My 

 cold breakfast was despatched while Kaweah ate 

 his barley, and we bade farewell to Seventeen Palms 

 with almost as much satisfaction as we had felt on 

 arriving. 



For safety's sake I filled the large canteen, though 

 heartily hoping I should not need to draw on it. 

 Kaweah refused to drink before we started, pre- 

 ferring to fly to ills he knew not of rather than repeat 

 the one he had tasted. However, to-day we had only 

 half of yesterday's distance to make, with prospect 

 of good water at the end. It was sometimes exasper- 

 ating to have Kaweah thus refuse water, especially 

 at the beginning of a long day's march. When he 

 thus washed his hands of the responsibility, confi- 

 dent that I would not get him into serious trouble, 



