68 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
the ridges, near the top of the divide between Tierra 
Blanca and the watershed directly south. The east- 
ern slopes, up which I made slow and painful head- 
-way, were thickly covered with oak brush and man- 
zanita. In the knee-high grass grew cactus and 
Mexican locust, the thorns ‘of which rip through 
clothes and flesh like tiny daggers. | 
It was necessary actually to fight one’s way 
through this mess, step by step. No care, however 
great, served to avoid the brush and thorns. The 
sun poured steadily down into the tangle. It seemed 
to grow ‘hotter and fiercer, moment by moment. 
Perspiration, a dirty red from dust and blood, ran 
in streams down my face and limbs. I began to 
suffer from thirst. My mouth and sieont were like 
brick dust. 
Pebbles held in the mouth and chewing tobacco, 
recommended under, such conditions, did not relieve 
these sensations in the slightest degree. 
I gradually became possessed of a.dry rage, un- 
reasoning and vindictive, with only the single idea 
left to hold my line and reach the top of the next 
ridge.. Slipping, sliding, cursing, tearing the brush _ 
aside’ with my hands, butting into it head first, fall- 
ing, rising, crawling on all fours, I advanced slowly, 
foot by foot, until at length I broke through a screen 
of branches and emerged to the comparative open 
of the summit.. I dropped to the ground and lay 
there, completely done. 
- When I thought of the two miles and more remain- 
