TO AGUA CALIENTE 239 



good-bye to McSandy I again turned my face desert- 

 wards. The forest fire that I had seen burning on 

 the western edge of the ranch had been put out, but 

 another had started in the Laguna Mountains to 

 the southeast. I had meant to take that country on 

 my way, in order to get as much as possible of 

 mountain pleasures before tackling the long desert 

 stretches that lay ahead. This now was barred, and 

 I viewed the distant column of smoke with no little 

 disgust. 



For hours I rode south and east through the great 

 valley, the summer-yellowed grass varied with dark- 

 clustering oaks or islands of aromatic brush. From 

 these came the shouts of those jolly pirates the 

 Steller jays, or the guffaws of red-headed blackbirds, 

 like "Laughter holding both his sides." Nearing the 

 eastern edge of the ranch, patches of cactus and 

 cat-claw met us with reminders that beyond the 

 next ridge stretched the thorny, dreary desert. As 

 I ate lunch beside a spring under a hillside oak, 

 thoughts of the torturing heat of coming noonday 

 camps would intrude, but I turned my eyes to the 

 pine-clad heights and revelled in draught after 

 draught of the cool, pure liquid tinkling by at arm's 

 length. 



I diverged here to call on an old acquaintance 

 whom I had last known as a vaquero on a ranch a 

 few miles to the south. He had now "given hostages 

 to Fortune," and was established as cattleman on 

 his own account. I came to his place about evening 

 and met a hearty welcome. It was amusing to see 

 how the family-man had qualified the cowboy of a 



