324 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



some wandering prospector. To my Inquiry how often 

 he got his mail, he replied "Oh, every few weeks," 

 in a tone implying that this was not half bad. 



My host had a small but substantial house, with 

 plenty of good land and many of the makings of a 

 comfortable home. On the river bank he had rigged 

 up, single-handed, an engine and pump, which were 

 all but ready to lift the water upon his fields. But 

 the loneliness and the disheartening fight were too 

 much for him, and he declared that he must quit un- 

 less he could find a partner. There are few people 

 nowadays, I fear, who would be attracted by this 

 frontier life, where one's own resources must provide 

 almost every item that enters into success and com- 

 fort. If lumber is needed, you row up stream, fell 

 and hew your timbers, and raft them down to your 

 landing. If cement, or nails, your supply is forty 

 miles away. If flour, or candles, or coffee, they are 

 only to be had at the trouble of a day's journey. So- 

 ciety one must dispense with: and if you need a doc- 

 tor — but one had better not get sick. Even the 

 luxury of a diet of wild burro (which is the only 

 fresh meat available) might not be thought to offset 

 the other deprivations. 



Kaweah met here an old acquaintance in the form 

 of barley hay, which he munched with reminiscent 

 air. After supper my host and I sat smoking and 

 chatting for hours while he unburdened himself of 

 hopes and fears, relieved with yams of cougar and 

 bighorn, treacherous river and waterless trail, while 

 coyotes yelped and yelled in cheerful rivalry, Cali- 

 fornia versus Arizona. 



