BLYTHE TO COACHELLA VALLEY 349 



told that my trail followed the main canon, yet there 

 was no sign of travel that way. This business of 

 guessing, when a mistake may spell disaster, gradu- 

 ally gets on one's nerves, knocks out the fun, and 

 finally puts one out of humor with desert travel. 



I tied Kaweah and prospected ahead, picking up 

 at last what seemed to be a continuation of the trail, 

 though so broken and casual that it could only be 

 followed by using extreme care. The storm that 

 had washed over the northern slope of the moun- 

 tains had obliterated the track here also. Another 

 mile, and the trail, such as it was, turned into a side 

 caiion toward the south. Disgusted, I resolved to 

 trust my sense of direction and keep on westward. 

 At the worst I could return to Corn Springs, and 

 to-morrow try the other route. 



One has little mind for scenery under these cir- 

 cumstances, yet I could not fail to be struck by the 

 intense desolation of the country we were travers- 

 ing. I was in the heart of one of those scorched and 

 scarified ranges that even viewed through the ameli- 

 orating veil of distance seem the last word of the 

 gaunt and hopeless in physical Nature. Rock, 

 gravel, sand, and sky, all alike repressive and re- 

 pellent, make up the total, but for a few lean 

 shrubs that clutch the blistering slabs of the moun- 

 tain wall, and the cacti that crouch among the boul- 

 ders and reward every careless step with torture. 

 For all of sentient life a raven flies heavily by, or 

 some snake glides away or waits coiled and threat- 

 ening in your path; and if you overturn a scrap 

 of stone, centipede or scorpion will resent your 



