up the acorns and throw them over their shoulders, into the baskets, both hands working at once. 
In the autumn they gather enough for a year’s supply, and store them away in a curiously made 
repository, something like a rough basket fastened to a stake some four or five feet from the 
ground. In the summer they consume large quantities of the tender tops of Lupins, which are 
cooked as greens. 
The acorns are, of course, very bitter, but this bitter principle they extract by filtering, first 
removing the shells and pounding them in a mortar until they seem as fine as ordinary meal. A 
shallow basin is then scooped out in the coarse sand or pulverized granite which composes the 
“soil” of the valley. This is made near a stream. The acorn meal is placed in the basin, and 
water is poured upon it until all the bitter is filtered away. It is frequently tasted by placing the 
fore-fingers in the basin and a peculiar twisting motion causes a large quantity to adhere, and 
this is dexterously transferred to the mouth. When the filtering is satisfactory, the top is gath¬ 
ered and dried, or used at onct as may be required. That at the bottom is taken up with a 
good deal of coarse sand. 
Water is then added in 
such quantities as will re¬ 
duce its consistency and 
allow the sand to sink to 
the bottom. The top is 
then poured off carefully. 
This is repeated several 
times, until at the end not 
an ounce of the meal will 
be wasted. We made a 
sketch of a group of In¬ 
dians engaged in this 
o o 
work, which we thought 
some of our readers would 
be pleased to see. 
The Indians of the val- 
i . -.r . • INDIANS PREPARING FOOD FROM ACORNS. 
ley are not without their 
traditions. Once they were happy and prosperous; the valley was fertile and rain abundant, fur¬ 
nishing them with corn and wild fruit, while the neighboring mountains abounded in game. They 
were the favorites of a Great Spirit who watched over their interests, and who was sometimes 
seen on the North Dome, where he usually came to look upon the pleasant valley and his red 
children. On the opposite side of the valley is a mountain called Cloud’s Rest, because at almost 
all times fleecy clouds may be seen hovering about its crest. Occasionally a beautiful goddess 
was seen on this mountain — beautiful as the rainbow and glorious as the sun. By some wickedness 
the chiefs had offended their god, and he had departed from them. It rained no more, their 
corn was ruined, the streams dried, and the game forsook the mountains. The poor Indians 
were starving. In vain they appealed to their god, who remained deaf to their cries. The beau¬ 
tiful goddess sat on one of the fleecy clouds on the summit of Cloud’s Rest. She saw their 
condition, her heart was filled with compassion, and in mercy caused the mountains to bring forth 
water, and the Merced, or River of Mercy, to flow through their valley, bringing hope and life to 
the hopeless and dying. 
The Indians of the Yosemite believe in a Good and a Bad Spirit. The Good Spirit is the 
Indians’ friend, but the Bad Spirit is on the constant watch to do them harm. They think, too, 
that man possesses an immortal spirit, and its home is the heart. It lives there even after the 
man is apparently dead, until mortification sets in, when it is compelled to abandon its failing 
tenement. The Good Spirit watches for the moment when the spirit of the Indian is compelled 
to leave its mortal home, to conduct it to the Indians’ happy hunting grounds. The Bad Spirit is 
equally alert, and if possible will seize the poor Indian’s soul the moment it leaves the body, to 
drag it away to a home of poverty and misery. The Bid Spirit, though abounding in evil, is not 
very smart, and is often deceived, even by the Indians. The plan of “fooling” the Evil 
Spirit is this: The body must be destroyed rapidly, so that the Indians may know just the time 
9 ' 
