On the Trail with the Sierra Club. 53 



made directly for another group of sleepers on the hill- 

 side. Awakened by the din, they saw this avalanche of 

 terrified mule-flesh bearing down on them. There was 

 no time to get out of the bags and no chance to run in 

 them. Each one, bag and all, jumped up Uke a Jack-in- 

 a-box. The sight of these apparitions springing from 

 the ground not only was sufficient to deflect the disturber 

 from his course but to send him a mile up the canon, 

 where he was lassoed later in the morning, — a sadder and 

 a wiser mule. This was but a trifling incident, and scarce- 

 ly worth the telling, except in so far as it was typical 

 of those minor happenings that helped to give spice to 

 the larger experiences. 



The next afternoon, after a ride full of interest along 

 the East Fork of the Kaweah and through a sadly hacked 

 sequoia basin at Atwell's Mill, we had reached the ter- 

 minus of the stage-road in the little village of Mineral 

 King. The discovery of gold in the mountains above the 

 town gave considerable importance to it during the 

 seventies. Now, both in appearance and in population, 

 it is but an echo of former days. Even the soaring eagle 

 must strain his eyes to see the few houses that huddle 

 along the East Fork. But there is reason to be thankful 

 that the hand of man has not seriously marred the pris- 

 tine beauty of this lovely alpine valley. Ages ago 

 glaciers carved it out of solid granite. In winter 

 avalanches cut wide paths down the precipitous slopes. 

 In summer they are festooned with waterfalls. Far into 

 July great snow-patches whiten the flanks of the warding 

 mountains and water marvelous flower-beds below. 

 Where trees have been able to maintain a footing against 

 the pressure of winter snows extensive forests of moun- 



