286 OUR NATIONAL PARKS 



kets. The friendly owner of the animal, having 

 noticed that I sometimes looked tired when I 

 came down from the peaks to replenish my bread 

 sack, assured me that his " little Brownie mule " 

 was just what I wanted, tough as a knot, per- 

 fectly untirable, low and narrow, just right for 

 squeezing through brush, able to climb like a 

 chipmunk, jump from boulder to boulder like a 

 wild sheep, and go anywhere a man could go. 

 But tough as he was and accomplished as a 

 climber, many a time in the course of our journey 

 when he was jaded and hungry, wedged fast in 

 rocks or struggling in chaparral like a fly in a 

 spiderweb, his troubles were sad to see, and I 

 wished he would leave me and find his way home 

 alone. 



We set out from Yosemite about the end of 

 August, and our first camp was made in the well- 

 known Mariposa Grove. Here and in the adjacent 

 pine woods I spent nearly a week, carefully exam- 

 ining the boundaries of the grove for traces of its 

 greater extension without finding any. Then I 

 struck out into the majestic trackless forest to the 

 southeastward, hoping to find new groves or traces 

 of old ones in the dense silver fir and pine woods 

 about the head of Big Creek, where soil and cli- 

 mate seemed most favorable to their growth, but 

 not a single tree or old monument of any sort came 

 to light until I climbed the high rock called 

 Wamellow by the Indians. Here I obtained tell- 



