BLYTHE TO COACHELLA VALLEY 345 



was a bright moon, in its second quarter, but at best 

 it was guesswork half the time. Often I tied Kaweah 

 and prospected far ahead before I could pick up the 

 trail. 



So much time was being lost in this fashion that 

 I determined to cut loose and trust to luck. The 

 mountain wall loomed shadowy, the canons uncer- 

 tainly marked by darker massing of gloom. The 

 route I had in mind followed a caiion that led 

 straight through the mountains, crossing by a pass 

 at the head of which is a water-hole known as Com 

 Springs. Scanning the dark wall before me I made 

 out a black slash that by its bearings should be the 

 caiion I wanted. It was doubtful, yet probable, and 

 I resolved to take the chance. 



Where we spent the next hour or two I am not 

 clear, except that in a general way we were on the 

 flanks of the Chuckwallas. Occasionally I got sight 

 anew of my landmark, which I identified by a notch 

 on the skyline: otherwise I guided by the stars. We 

 pulled up at last in the bottom of a deep gully 

 choked with a thicket of smoke-trees. Out of this 

 there was no way, except by going back, unless I 

 could get Kaweah up a thirty foot cliff. I felt sure 

 that once on the farther side we should have easy 

 going, though it was still doubtful whether the 

 caiion we were heading for was the right one. 



Kaweah was dead tired, but game. Picking out 

 the best looking place I threw the bridle over the 

 horn and led by the picket-rope. The bank was 

 loose gravel and much too steep for any chance of 

 stopping midway. It must be made in one rush or not 



