3i6 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



on a stalk of milo-malze; or a cow dreamily chew- 

 ing; or a flock of blackbirds making jolly chorus in a 

 willow; anyhow it was there, and even when birds 

 and cows were left behind, and the desert again en- 

 gulfed us, I felt the vague relief. 



I chose the California bank of the river. There is 

 a fairly good road, I am told, leading north on the 

 Arizona side, while on the west side roads were 

 problematical beyond Picacho, some twenty miles 

 up. But I find untravelled ways most to my liking, 

 and felt pretty sure I could get through, for water 

 would be at hand if I kept near the river, and I 

 heard of a ranch or two where forage might be found 

 before I should reach the settlements of the Palo 

 Verde Valley. 



The first few miles led through the Indian Reser- 

 vation, and at one or two of the kans (houses) the 

 family was already breakfasting (mainly, it seemed, 

 on watermelon) under the ramada, or brush-roofed 

 shed, which is the general living-room during the 

 hot months. The winter-quarters of most of the 

 houses seemed snug enough, with good doors and 

 windows, though these looked odd in walls of wil- 

 low-poles caulked with mud. One young fellow 

 dashed past me on a bicycle, with a shock of hair 

 streaming behind him that for length, if not for tex- 

 ture, might be the envy of many a pale-face bru- 

 nette. 



Passing the last irrigation ditch we entered at 

 once on a wide mesa with the ragged red hills of the 

 Chocolate Range on all sides, except where, beyond 

 the river, the mountains of Arizona were piled in 



