3i8 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



sea of color that spread before me here. But why at- 

 tempt to describe that which I felt it was hopeless to 

 try to realize myself? It was superhuman. Words 

 were below the trivial; even thoughts would hardly 

 come. 



In mere geography, it was the back of the Choco- 

 lates that I saw, a red ocean of ridges and pinnacles 

 that if one could count them would run to hundreds, 

 or more likely thousands. The level sun threw every 

 detail into strongest relief, each point sharp and tense 

 as if in action. Across this swept the splendor of an 

 unearthly sunset. 



The road here swung to the north of the Pica- 

 cho, which had become a huge perpendicular cliff 

 mysterious in shadow. Near by was another peak 

 scarcely less original in outline. A mile brought us to 

 the old mining-camp, a cluster of huts and sheds, all 

 but one or two of them dismantled, with a larger 

 central building occupied now by a caretaker. The 

 property is involved in some legal difficulties and 

 has long been unworked. This district has been 

 noted for its rich placers since the early sixties, and 

 it is said that when it was at its best ("in bonanza" 

 as the phrase goes) any miner who failed to take out 

 three hundred dollars per day was discharged as in- 

 competent. Instead of the several hundred men who 

 at one time made this a lively camp, I found only 

 two or three Mexicans making a small living by 

 working over the old placer-ground with dry-wash- 

 ers. 



I persuaded the caretaker to spare Kaweah an 

 armful of hay from his tinystore, and ate a cold 



