cities of Cibola, whose supposed site was somewhere in the northeastern part of Arizona. Since the mission of these parties led off to that quarter, there is little reason to suppose that either they or their immediate successors ever turned their footsteps in so opposite a direction. It has been surmised that the inhabitants of the country visited by the Spaniards, in the hope of getting effectual riddance of their unwelcome guests, told them such stories of a rich country far to the northwest as induced the invaders to hasten off thither; after which they were heard of no more, having, presumably, suffered extermination on the deserts.

This conjecture has, however, so little to sustain it that we must look elsewhere for the pioneer adventurers across the outstretched solitudes west of the Colorado. That they are to be found in the early settlers of California may be inferred from the fact that communication was at an early period established between Los Angeles and Santa Fé, New Mexico, for the trail connecting these places led centrally across the Mojave basin. Over the same trail some of the first immigrants from the United States reached California. The Mormons, who in 1847 settled at San Bernardino, came into the country by the same route. The trappers and voyageurs, whose advent in California antedates that of all these people, never entered this wilderness, there being no fur-bearing animals in it. These hardy men, crossing the mountains, pursued their calling along the lakes and streams further north. Concerning the people, then, who first adventured across this most unlovely country, their sufferings and their fate, we know but little. About those who have made the journey since the discovery of gold in California, we are better posted. Indeed, the incidents and occurrences connected therewith are amongst the most widely known, as they rank also amongst the most tragical events of modern times.

First on this list of dolorous events is the fate that in 1849 overtook a company of emigrants, who, on their way to California, in attempting to make a cut-off, strayed into Death Valley, where a large number of them

perished from heat and thirst. So little rain falls in that locality that the wagon tracks, and even the footprints of the animals, made on that occasion, were distinctly visible twenty years after. Portions of the wagons themselves, and of the scanty furniture left by these poor people, were also to be seen, even after so long a time, and but slightly weathered. This valley for three-fourths of the year is a perfect furnace, the high mountains that surround it reflecting the sun's rays and intensifying the heat, further aggravated by the extreme depression of the surface. survivors of this party rescued themselves from their perilous situation by reaching the Panamint Mountains on the west, crossing which, they arrived at the border settlements of California in a famishing condition.

The

One of these men, who had taken up his residence in the southern part of the State, several years after exhibited an extremely rich piece of silver-bearing ore, which he claimed to have found when crossing the Panamint range, and concerning the discovery of which he gave the following account: Traveling on foot, he noted this specimen, his attention being attracted by its highly metallic appearance. Being just then in need of a sight for his gun, he broke off a piece, and shaping it with his knife, adapted it to that use. Notwithstanding the palpable absurdity of this story, it met with such credence that much search was made after the original vein, under the name of the "Gun-Sight Lode." The fact that this lode has not yet been found, having managed to elude the search of prospectors innumerable, renders the story more than apochryphal.

The rumored discovery in the spring of 1862 of rich placers at La Paz, in Western Arizona, caused quite an emigration to set out from California towards that point. Not content with my Gold Bluff and Frazier River experiences, I was tempted to try my luck in another of these distant and hazardous fields of exploration. Joining a considerable party at San Bernardino, the place of general rendezvous, I found myself in the month of June of the above year heading for the new El Dorado.

route.

For the first hundred miles out we got along without experiencing any special difficulties, except some slight troubles had with the half-civilized Indians, who occupy a number of rancherias along that portion of the A more numerous party, having the same destination in view, had preceded us by a few days. Of course, it is not to be supposed that any company so made up and bent on such errand would pass through an Indian village without kicking up a row with the inhabitants. True to their antecedents, the party ahead of us had managed to get into a scrimmage with these harmless people, who, when we came along, were there fore in a very bad humor, little disposed to extend to us the hospitalities which it had ever before been their wont to extend to strangers. As for my own company, we treated these rancherias not only fairly but liberally, being willing to make some amends for the misconduct of our countrymen.

These little settlements, known as Cabazons, Agua Caliente, Indian Wells, and Los Torros, are stretched along over a space of twenty miles or more. At each there is a spring or a small stream of water, which alone makes the spot habitable. At each of these places the Indians cultivate a few acres of land, which they plant mostly to wheat, corn, squashes, and melons, good crops being raised through recourse to irrigation. They live in huts constructed from willow poles filled in with mud; these dwellings are without windows or doors, large spaces being left open for exit and entrance. Fire, except a little for cooking, is never required here, this being a land of almost perpetual sunshine, in which neither frost ncr snow is ever known.

After passing the last of these Indian villages, our party began to experience some lack of water. This trouble did not, how ever, become serious until we had got beyond Dos Palmas, where the La Paz trail, leaving the old overland stage road to Yuma, bears off to the northeast. We were one night without water before getting to Dos Palmas, a condition of things brought about in this wise. The government, when the

mail was carried over this route, had dug out small wells or tanks at places where water could be found. These tanks were boarded up and covered with a lid to keep the sand from drifting in and filling them up. On the night in question we expected, on arriving at one of these tanks, to find there a sufficiency of water. Coming up to it we found to our dismay the receptacle full of sand, the cover having carelessly been left off. This was the first of the many trials in store for us, and much sorer were to come. The next day, before reaching Dos Palmas, several of the company gave out, and had to be left behind. Pushing on, those who were in better condition reached that place, and obtaining water, returned, and relieved their thirsty companions, all of whom were then gotten safely into camp. One, however, died before morning. We buried him in the grass plat just below the spring. It would not be difficult to find and identify the remains. His shroud was a gray blanket, and the grave was shallow. There is much water at Dos Palmas-enough in one of the pools to afford good bathing. But the water here is not good: it is warm, and so brackish withal that it meets with poor appreciation except by such as suffer the torment of thirst at the moment of drinking.

Badly as we fared at Dos Palmas, this was but the beginning of the tribulations that soon began to come thick upon us. The next place at which water in any considerable quantity could be had was at Tabasaca, twenty miles distant, and the trail much of the way a very heavy one. A few miles from Dos Palmas opens one of the characteristic "washes" of the country. Entering and toiling up this gorge, our animals sunk at every step deep into the loose gravel. The ascent was steep, and the heat fearful. The little spring on the side of this "wash," having been drained by those ahead of us, contained scarcely any water when we reached it. The scanty supply was gathered and given to those who stood most in need of it, the water laid in at our last stopping place being now all gone. We were yet fully twelve miles from Tabasaca, and several of the party had

A short stay here exhausted the stock of water, and we next proceeded to Chucawalla, a few miles further on. This was the last place where a drop of water could be had till we reached the Colorado River, twentytwo miles distant. The situation had now be come critical. Many of the men and some of the animals were so enfeebled that it was with difficulty they could travel at all. Some of the men had begun to act strangely, showing that their minds as well as their bodies had been affected. Had water been plentiful at Chucawalla, which it was not, we were without means for carrying more than a very limited quantity with us. We had, therefore, reason to apprehend the most serious results before making the dry stretch that separated us from the river.

All possible preparation having been made, our party started on what, to a considerable number of them, proved to be a veritable "jornada del muerte." We had gone but a short distance in the direction of the river before we came upon the body of a dead man, one of the company ahead of us; his companions had either failed to miss him, or in their hurry had not thought worth while to stop and give him sepulture. The sight of this corpse filled some of the party with gloomy forebodings; nor was the effect upon any of us at all reassuring. Before noon the old troubles began to manifest themselves in a very alarming manner, some of the men lagging behind, and some growing flighty, while others, fainting, fell from the saddle. From this on the signs of distress kept multiplying on every hand.

The scenes that ensued during the following two days were alike terrible and piteous. Language is inadequate to their description. During this time, ten of our party perished under circumstances of inconceivable horror. Several became violently insane, and so remained till the pangs of thirst had been allayed. Others would have died had not re

lief come to them as it did. On the day we left Chucawalla, a small well-mounted party, anticipating the dire strait to which we were likely soon to be reduced, rode on to the river, and hurrying back with water, arrived in time to save the survivors from sharing the fate of their companions.

Of all deaths that fall to the lot of mortal, that produced by water famine appears to be not only the most distressing, but also to be attended with the most singular phenomena. There is no accounting for them. On the occasion I speak of, it was curious to observe the mental conditions develop as the final hour approached. Some died meek and prayerful; some, defiant and profane; some, wildly delirious, succumbed with a maniacal laugh; while others, sinking into a state of seeming unconsciousness, quietly passed away-so differently were these unhappy men affected by the same cause, so differently moved by the prospect of impending dissolution.

All through these severe trials in fact, the manner in which different individuals deported themselves was noticeably unlike. There were those who remained cool and unimpassioned even when things were the darkest, while others, paralyzed with fear, became disheartened and readily gave up. Several were so frenzied with their sufferings that they lost all control of themselves. When they were reduced to this condition, there was nothing to be done but to bind them hand and foot and leave them behind; one of these, before such precaution had been taken, having started off like a deer over the desert. He had gotten some distance away before we noticed his departure, or comprehended what it meant. An expert vaquero, lasso in hand, soon overhauled him and brought him to a halt, after which he was returned to the trail and securely tied. ing himself helpless, he raved incoherently about the water he had seen off in the direction in which he was going when captured and brought back. Two of the men afflicted in this way, and so secured, were afterwards rescued alive. The third died before the party returning with water had reached him.

Find

"Oh, Frank, how dared you tell her that?" "Because I wanted to awaken her mind to original research, and induce her to look up some of the points of interest in her own country, instead of cantering off to Europe every summer, and mooning over ruined castles."

The first speaker was Miss Frank Har. court, a small blonde of nineteen, with a bewitching smile and fine blue eyes. She was, a San Franciscan, and had always lived in her native city until she was sent to college in New York, a year previous to this conversation. She was now at home for her long vacation, having been accompanied on the overland journey by her uncle, Mr. J. C. Hathaway, and her cousin, his daughter, from Philadelphia, who came to see the glories of the Golden State; and the trip to Yosemite was to be accomplished immediately.

Miss Grace Hathaway was a tall, dark, handsome, rather unhappy-looking girl of Frank's own age, who had just "finished" at Madame Begorieux's fashionable school, where she had distinguished herself in the study of French. She had the misfortune to be the heiress of her grandfather, who died when she was a child; and by the judicious management of her father, who was her guardian, her estate was estimated at a million and a half. The misfortune lay in the fact that her whole life was embittered by the efforts of her father to keep off fortunehunters. She was constantly guarded and watched, and warned that this or that young man, who had been civil to her, was only looking out for her money. She was never allowed to be happy like other girls, until in the bitterness of her young soul she prayed that the Lord would take from her this curse of gold. But the prayer was not answered, and the investments of her father continued to roll in dividends, and daily he grew more strict and watchful.

Her meeting with Frank opened a new world to her. She looked with wonder and admiration upon this sprightly cousin, brought up in the cosmopolitan air of California, who went and came almost as she

chose, who entertained young gentlemen without espionage, and was not the heiress apparent of a million. Her wonder and admiration were farther challenged when she learned, during a confidential chat, while packing their trunks for the journey, that Frank was engaged; for to be engaged seemed to her the most wonderful and most unattainable state in the world.

"Tell me all about it; how did it happen?" she asked.

"Oh, the most natural thing in the world, although for a time a real romance seemed pending, because Ted's father andmine both frowned upon it in the strangest way, and we came very near having the 'stern parient' to appease ; but they quieted down in a sensible way, and gave us their blessing, thus saving us and themselves no end of trouble. Insubordinate parents are a great trial, and there can be no peace until they are reduced to submission."

This daring sentiment, so frankly avowed, almost took Grace's breath away; but, anxious to hear more on the subject, she asked: "How about your mother? did she approve?”

"Mamma always thinks as I do; we are two souls with but a single thought,' or words to that effect, and you don't know how jolly it is."

"No, I don't; for mamma died when I was a baby, and papa has always been so strict with me; but tell me more about this Ted.”

"Well, his name is Quincy Edward Roberts, Jr., and I call him Ted, as I don't like Quincy. He is handsome, stylish, rich enough, but he has one fault. He is a Western man, and I have a prejudice against Western men."

"Why, Frank, you are Western yourself." "No, I am a Californian, a Pacific Slopian. California is a civilization sui generis. We stand between the Old and the New World -a glorious possibility. But even admitting that I am a Westerner, that is all the more reason that I should prefer my husband to be from the East. Now, if he were a Bostonian or a New Yorker, I could die happy; but he comes from-Terre Haute!" and she made a wry face.