TO AGUA CALIENTE 243 



with no stomach for close quarters, were off like the 

 wind. They were back like the wind, too, to break 

 out again the moment the dogs settled down, which 

 they chose to do close by my sleeping-quarters. 



From the San Felipe two roads go to the desert, 

 one continuing down the valley, the other, which I 

 took, climbing the shoulder of a mountain to the 

 south, and making a circuit behind it. In a rincon 

 or elbow at the foot of the rise lay the hamlet of 

 Banner, a place of some repute thirty years ago, 

 when, with the mountain town of Julian, a few miles 

 to the west, it was the centre of a lively mining 

 region. Now, the population could be counted on 

 the fingers of one hand. The only inhabitant I saw 

 seemed to typify the place — an old, old man, bent 

 and silent, who crept to and fro on the veranda of 

 an echoing "hotel." 



The trail here turned eastward, making a sharp 

 ascent. As usual, the change of altitude was at once 

 registered in the vegetation. Sizable bushes took the 

 place of low and scanty brush : tall yucca spears ap- 

 peared, their creamy candle-flames now long burned 

 out. Then live-oaks began to spot the pale slopes 

 with blots of umber. Shafts of old mines were nu- 

 merous, and here and there stood decrepit cabins, 

 long unused, surrounded with a litter of rusty 

 shovels, drills, and crowbars, and specimens of min- 

 eral. 



On a shoulder of the mountain I came upon the 

 remains of a once notable mine, the Ranchita. The 

 machinery was still in place, and the ten-stamp 

 battery stood open-jawed as if begging one more 



