VIII. CLIMATE AND HEALTH 



EARLY one morning in April a few years ago 

 a party of four, of whom I was one, were 

 leaving Beaumont for Palm Springs. We had 

 come from the coast, two of my friends driving in a 

 camp-wagon, the other on horseback like myself. 

 This was our fourth day out. 



The weather was cold and cloudy as we left 

 Beaumont, and a dash of rain spattered us as we 

 raced through Banning, six miles on our road. It 

 looked as if more were coming, so we who were 

 on horseback halted a moment on tlie edge of town 

 and put our ponchos on. From here we had a 

 twelve mile straight-away stretch down to the 

 Whitewater Ranch. The clouds hung heavy and 

 low on the great mountains to right and left, and 

 at our two thousand feet of altitude we looked out 

 from under the stormy canopy as from beneath a 

 hood. The effect was highly theatrical. Below and 

 far ahead, at the foot of the hollow scoop of the 

 pass, lay a pale golden land, shimmering in sun- 

 light under a sky of summery blue. It was like 

 magic, or a dream, and we gazed Avith all our eyes: 

 but on the moment an icy blast rushed down from 

 Grayback and lashed us with a storm of hail. This, 

 anyhow, was no dream. Hastily we mounted and 

 dashed forward; but for an hour as we galloped 

 down the pass we were alternately thrashed on the 



