356 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



It was yet five miles to water, but the knowledge 

 that it was at hand made them short. Kaweah 

 recognized his surroundings, and livened up so 

 much that I suddenly found myself desperately 

 footsore, so got into the saddle and rode. Daylight 

 came, the stars one by one went out, and cactus and 

 ocotillo lost their wizard look and became again 

 objects of commonplace dislike or cool botanical 

 interest. A coyote, hailing us from across the valley, 

 sounded like a friendly halloo. By the time we 

 reached the entrance to the caiion its white cliffs 

 were cheerfully trimmed with rose, and before the 

 sun was up we were at Shafer's Well. 



I seized the pump-handle and worked it up and 

 down affectionately. I think I never shook hands 

 with such hearty feelings for any one as I felt 

 for Shafer. As for Kaweah, it would have been 

 happiness to pump for him for hours, as indeed it 

 seemed to me I did. Then I threw off saddle-bags 

 and saddle, washed him down, and began a hunt 

 for forage. By the best of fortune some freighter had 

 lately fed his team and had left enough hay on the 

 ground to make a very fair meal for a thrifty Indian 

 pony. My companion fell to work at this, while I 

 threw down my blanket roll, followed it myself, and 

 fell asleep in the action. It was twenty-one hours 

 since we left Com Springs, and we had travelled 

 practically without a stop. 



In the afternoon we made the remaining twelve 

 miles down to Mecca. It seemed a foretaste of 

 Elysium to get among artesian wells and patches of 

 emerald alfalfa. To make water run by turning a 



