218 



THE DESEET 



The 

 chaparral. 



Home of the 



grizzly. 



Ridge trails 

 and taluses. 



thicken into brush, and the brush runs into a 

 chaparral. The manzanita, the lavender and 

 white lilaCj the buckthorn, the laurel, the su- 

 mac, all throw out stiff dry arms that tear at 

 your clothing. The mountain-covering that 

 from below looked an ankle-deep of grasses and 

 weeds — a velvety carpet only — turns out to be 

 a dense tangle of brush a dozen feet high. It 

 is not an attractive place because the only suc- 

 cessful method of locomotion through it is on 

 the hands and knees. That method of moving 

 is peculiar to the bear, and so for that matter 

 is the chaparral through which you are tearing 

 your way. It is one of the hiding-places of the 

 grizzly. And there are plenty of grizzlies still 

 left in the Sierra Madre. To avoid the chapar- 

 ral (and also the bear) you would better keep 

 on the sunny side of the spurs where the 

 ground is more open. 



You are at the top of one of the outlying spurs 

 at last and you find there a dim trail made by 

 deer and wolves leading along the ridge, across 

 the saddle, and up to the next spur. As you 

 follow this yon presently emerge from the brush 

 and come face to face with a declivity, covered 

 by broken blocks of stone that seem to have 

 been slipping down the mountain-side for cen- 



