Below the Cascades the party soon began to notice the influence of the tides in the rise and fall of the river, and knew then that the Pacific could not be very far away. Early in November they came in sight of the ocean, and in a few days had the pleasure of standing upon its shores. The long and dangerous trip of four thousand miles had been completed without any serious accident.

Continual rains poured upon them, and before winter quarters could be prepared they were in a very uncomfortable position. A permanent camp was selected upon the Oregon side of the Columbia, and log buildings were erected. The camp was called Fort Clatsop. While in their winter quarters the party cultivated friendly relations with the Indians, and made extensive notes upon their habits and characteristics.



In the spring, since no ship had appeared which would carry them back by water, Lewis and Clark determined to return overland. First, however, they left some records with the Indians, with directions that these should be given to the captain of any ship which might happen to visit the mouth of the Columbia. The leaders wished to make sure that if anything happened to the party the knowledge gained by their explorations should not be lost.

One can imagine with what pleasure the men turned homeward. Although they had started with flour, rice, corn, and other articles of food, these had given out long before they reached the lower Columbia, and for some months their only diet had been fish and the animals that the hunters had killed. Their stock for trading with the Indians was also nearly gone; all the articles that were left could be put into two pocket handkerchiefs.

After ascending the Columbia River to a point above The Dalles, the party left the stream, as they found that it would be impossible to make much headway with the canoes. Obtaining horses from the Indians, they followed the outward route back as far as the Kooskooskie River. Then they turned north and crossed the mountains to the Missoula River. Near the present city of Missoula the party divided, Captain Lewis going up Hell Gate River and crossing the continental divide to examine the country lying north of the Missouri.

Captain Clark, with another portion of the company, went up the Bitter Root River and over the mountains to the Jefferson Fork, which the whole party had ascended the year before. He followed this river down to its junction with the Gallatin, and travelled for a distance up the latter stream, then crossed by land to the Yellowstone River.

Canoes were constructed upon the Yellowstone, and the party floated down to the junction of this river with the Missouri. There the two bands were fortunately reunited, and together they passed rapidly down the Missouri until they reached the "village" of St. Louis, where the whole population came out to welcome them. As the party had been gone more than two years, it was feared that they would never be heard from again.

There can be no doubt that the expedition of Lewis and Clark added greatly to the public interest in the vast region which they traversed, and helped to bring about the final retention of the Oregon country. The Hudson Bay Fur Company soon after established trading posts at various points along the Columbia, and kept up their contention that all the country lying north of the river rightfully belonged to England.

It was very remarkable that the Lewis and Clark expedition had made the long journey to the Pacific and back without meeting with serious accident. There were perils to be met on account of the ruggedness of the country, the rapids in the streams, the lack of food, and the danger of attack from the Indians. The successful accomplishment of the plan was without a doubt largely due to the ability of the two brave leaders.



THE RUSSIANS IN CALIFORNIA

How many of us know that the Russians once established a post upon the coast of California and held it for nearly a third of a century? If the geographic conditions about this post had been different, it is possible that the Russian colonists would hold their position now.

The discoveries made upon the North American coast by the Russian navigator, Bering, in 1741, led to fur trading with the Indians; and in 1798 the Russian American company was organized and established its headquarters at Sitka.

The Spaniards still claimed the whole Pacific coast of North America as far north as the Strait of Fuca, though they had given up their station at Nootka Sound, Vancouver Island. They had, however, made no settlements north of the port of San Francisco.

It was nearly one hundred years ago that Rezanof, a leading Russian official, arrived at Sitka and began to investigate the condition of the settlements of the Russian American Fur Company. He found them in a sorry state; the people were nearly starved and most of them were sick with the scurvy. No grain or vegetables were grown along that northern coast, nor could they be supplied from Asia. Rezanof conceived the idea of establishing trade relations with the people of California. By this means furs might be exchanged for the fresh provisions which were so sorely needed in the north.

Rezanof sailed south in 1806 and tried to enter the Columbia River, where the company had planned to establish a settlement, for upon the Russian maps of this time all of the coast as far south as the Columbia was included under Russian jurisdiction. Rezanof was, however, unable to enter the river, probably for the same reason that Meares, the English navigator, had failed to enter. He then proceeded down the coast and finally ran into the port of San Francisco, where he was treated in a fairly polite manner by the Spanish.

After the return of the expedition to the north, definite plans were made for the establishment of an agricultural and trading station on the California coast, as a permanent supply depot for the northern settlements. Rezanof hoped in time to secure a portion of this fair southern land from Spain.

Several hunting expeditions, chiefly made up of Aleut Indians with Russian officers, were sent south and told to keep a sharp lookout for a suitable place to begin operations. In 1809 one expedition entered Bodega Bay, an inlet of some size about sixty miles northwest of San Francisco. This bay, which had been previously discovered and named by the Spaniards, was thoroughly explored two years later.

No good spot for a settlement was found upon this inlet, but in 1812 a location was determined upon, ten miles north of the mouth of the stream we now know as Russian River. There was no good harbor here, simply a little cove, but back of this cove a broad grassy tract formed a gently sloping terrace at the foot of a line of hills. The soil was good and timber was near at hand.

The Russians first made friends with the Indians, who ceded to them the territory in the neighborhood for three blankets, three pair of breeches, three hoes, two axes, and some trinkets.

In order to protect themselves from possible Indian attacks as well as to be able to hold their position against the Spanish, the Russians constructed a strong stockade. It was made of upright posts set in the ground and pierced with loopholes. At the corners, and a little distance within, were erected two hexagonal blockhouses with openings for cannon. As it happened, however, no occasion ever arose for the use of the ten cannon with which the fort was supplied. The post was given the name Ross, a word which forms the root of the word Russia.

The Spanish, of course, claimed the territory by right of discovery, and watched the work of the Russians with jealous eyes. They were not strong enough to drive the Russians away by force, although they protested more than once against the unlawful occupation of the land. Some trading was carried on between the Russians and the Spanish, and occasionally loads of grain and cattle were sent north.

The number of people at Fort Ross varied from one hundred and fifty to five hundred. The population consisted of Russians, Aleuts, and other Indians. The Aleuts were the hunters and sealers. They spent their time upon the ocean, sometimes entering San Francisco Bay, but usually hunting in the region of the Farralone Islands, which were originally inhabited by great herds of fur seal. There were also otters, sea-lions, and an infinite number of seabirds. A station was maintained upon the Farralones, where a few men stayed to gather birds' eggs and kill seagulls. Many thousands of gulls were taken each year, and every part of their bodies was utilized for some purpose.



Kotzebue, a Russian navigator, whose name has been given to a sound upon northern Alaska, visited Fort Ross and also San Francisco Bay. He considered it a great pity that the Russians had not gained possession of this territory before the Spaniards, for the magnificent bay of San Francisco, in the midst of a fertile country, would have been a prize worth working for.

Year after year the Russian Fur Company sent expeditions to California to trade and bring back provisions. They tried to extend the area under their jurisdiction, but the geographical conditions of the country were unfavorable. The narrow strip of land next the coast was cut off from the interior valleys by mountain ridges and canons. If the Sonoma Valley had opened westward instead of toward San Francisco Bay, it would have been easy to extend their territory gradually. As it was, the Spanish, who were in control of the bay, had easy access to all of the fertile valleys of central California.

As the sealing industry decreased in importance, and as the maintenance of Fort Ross was expensive, the Russians in 1839 began to consider the question of giving up their post. They finally sold everything at Ross and Bodega, except the land, to Sutter, an American who had acquired a large ranch and established a post or fort at the mouth of the American River. In 1841 the Russians sailed away, never to return. The Spaniards were greatly relieved when this happened, for they had not known how to get rid of their unwelcome neighbors peaceably, and were reluctant to stir up trouble with Russia.

The stockade at Fort Ross has entirely disappeared, but two blockhouses, the little chapel, and the officers' quarters remain as the Russians left them.

Fort Ross is now-a pleasant, quiet hamlet. A store and a farm-house have been added to the old buildings. Behind the sloping meadows rise the partly wooded hills, while in front lies the little bay where once the boats of the Russian and Aleut seal hunters moved to and fro. Occasionally a small schooner visits the cove for the purpose of loading wood or tan-bark for the San Francisco market.



Fort Ross was never marked by serious strife and seems destined to go on in its quiet way. The blockhouses are rotting and beginning to lean with age, and in time all evidences of the once formidable Russian post will have disappeared.



DEATH VALLEY

To most of us Death Valley is thought of only as a mysterious region somewhere in the Southwest, a place which we are accustomed to picture to ourselves as being the embodiment of everything that is desolate and lifeless,—a region where there is no water, where there are no living things, simply bare rocks and sand upon which the sun beats pitilessly and over which the scorching winds blow in clouds of dust. The reality is hardly so bad as this, for there are living things in the valley, and water may occasionally be found. Nevertheless it is a fearful spot in summer, and has become the final resting place of many wanderers in these desert regions, who having drunk all their water failed to find more.

We have already learned something about the Great Basin: we know that it is made up of vast desert plains or valleys, separated by a few partly isolated mountain ranges. The valleys are peculiar in that they are basins without outlets, and for this reason are known as sinks. Many of the lakes once occupying the valleys are now quite or nearly dry, and the lower portions of their beds are either whitened with deposits of borax and soda, or have been transformed into barren expanses of hardened yellow clay.

The long, gentle slopes about the sinks, which have been built up by the waste rock from the mountains, as a result of the occasional cloudbursts are dotted with sage-brush, greasewood, or other low plants, and furnish a home for numerous animals.

Back of the gravel slopes rise the mountains, browned under the fierce rays of the summer sun. In some of their deeper canons little springs and streams are found, but the water usually dries up before leaving the protecting shadows of the cliffs. Toward the mountain tops the desert juniper appears; and if the peaks rise high enough to get more of the moisture of the cooler air, they support groves of the pinon and possibly yellow pine.

The valleys are all much alike. In summer the days are unbearably hot, while in winter the air is cool and invigorating. The skies are overcast for only a few days in the year, but in the autumn and spring fierce winds, laden with dust and sand, sweep across the valleys and through the mountain passes.

Strange rock forms, of many contrasting colors, worn out by wind and water, mark the desert mountains. The granite wears a brown, sunburned coat, while the masses of black lava show here and there patches of pink, yellow, and red. The air is often so wondrously clear that distant mountains seem much nearer than they really are. During the hot summer days the mirage forms apparent lakes and shady groves, illusions which have lured many a thirsty traveller to his death.

Death Valley is the lowest and hottest of the desert basins. Its surface, over four hundred feet below the level of the sea, is the lowest dry land in the United States. The valley is long and narrow and enclosed by mountains. Those upon the east are known as the Funeral Mountains, while upon the west the peaks of the Panamint Range rise to a height of about ten thousand feet.

If the rainfall were greater, Death Valley would be occupied by a salt or alkaline lake, but in this dry region lakes cannot exist, and the bottom of the sink, sometimes marshy after exceptional winter rains, is in many places almost snowy white from deposits of salt, soda, or borax.

Death Valley, then, differs from scores of other valleys in the Great Basin by being a little lower, a little hotter, and a little more arid. Strange as it may seem, old prospectors say that Death Valley is the best watered of all the desert valleys. Since it is the lowest spot in all the surrounding country, the scanty water supply all flows toward it. But the water runs under the gravels of the old river beds instead of on the top, where it might be utilized. Occasionally, however, the water comes to the surface in the form of springs, which are marked by a few willows or mesquite trees and little patches of salt grass.

Long ago, when the rainfall was greater, Death Valley was a saline lake and received a number of streams, two of which were large enough to be called rivers. The Amargoza River, starting from Nevada and pursuing a roundabout way, entered the southern end of the valley. The Mohave River, which rises in the San Bernardino Range, also emptied into the valley at one time, but now its waters, absorbed by the thirsty air and by the sands, disappear in the sink of the Mohave fifty miles to the south.

The summer is the dreaded season in Death Valley. A temperature of one hundred and thirty-seven degrees has been reported by the Pacific Coast Borax Company at the mouth of Furnace Creek. This temperature was recorded in the shade, and is the hottest ever experienced in the United States. In the sun it is of course much hotter. Many a person has lost his life in trying to cross the heated valley in the middle of a summer day instead of making the journey at night.



Dangerous as this region is, even now when we know so much about it, it was of course much more dangerous for the first white men who entered it. Only those who have had some experience upon the desert can realize the difficulties and dangers which beset the first emigrants who attempted to cross the deserts lying between Salt Lake City and the Sierra Nevada mountains. The story of the sufferings and final escape of that party which, by taking the wrong course, was lost in the great sink, is extremely interesting although sad. The valley received its name from the experiences of the members of this party.

In the latter part of 1849 many emigrants, who had reached Salt Lake City too late in the season to take the usual route through northern Nevada and over the Sierra Nevada mountains, decided that rather than remain in the town all winter, they would follow the south trail across southern Nevada to San Bernardino and Los Angeles.

A party of people finally collected with one hundred and seven wagons and about five hundred horses and cattle. The course led in a southwesterly direction past Sevier Lake and Mountain Meadows in southwestern Utah. In the latter locality the party divided, the larger number leaving the old trail and taking a more westerly direction. They thought in this way to shorten the distance, and hoped, by skirting the southern end of the Sierra Nevada mountains, to-gain the San Joaquin Valley in California.

Now trouble began. No one had ever been over the new route, and the location of the springs and the passes through which the wagons could be taken had to be sought out in advance. Soon many of the party turned back to the known trail, but the others continued, though with no knowledge of the nature of the country which they must cross.

Day after day and week after week the slow ox-teams crawled across the broad deserts and over the low mountain ranges. From the top of each successive mountain ridge the men looked with longing eyes toward the west, hoping to get a sight of the snowy Sierras. Finally want of water and food began to weaken the cattle and the wagons were lightened as much as possible.

As the party approached the eastern boundary of California the mountains grew higher and the deserts more arid. In the clear air the snow-covered peaks of the Panamint Range began to be visible, although one hundred miles away. The weary emigrants believed that these peaks belonged to the Sierra Nevadas, and that beyond them lay the green valleys of California. How great was their mistake! The Panamint Range looks down upon Death Valley with a bold and almost impassable front, while still other broad deserts lie between this range and the real Sierras.

Upon reaching the head of the Amargosa River the party began to separate, for by this time many thought only of saving their lives at any cost. Some followed Furnace Creek to its sink in Death Valley; others went over the Funeral range and came down upon the lower portion of the Amargosa River. In many cases the wagons were abandoned and the oxen were killed for food.

When they came into the sink we now know as Death Valley, the members of the different parties began to feel that they were really lost. From the records that have come down to us we can see that they had not the slightest idea of the direction which they should take or of their distance from the settlements in California. Fortunately it was the winter season and the heat did not trouble them; moreover, the rains and snows furnished some water.

None of the wagons were taken beyond the camp at the western edge of the valley, under the towering peaks of the Panamint Range. This place is now known as Bennett's Wells. Here the wagons were broken up and burned, and the loads, which were now very light, were either taken by the men themselves or placed upon the backs of the few remaining oxen. It was thought that the fair fields of California would be seen from the top of the Panamint Range; but when the travellers reached the summit other desert valleys appeared in the west, and beyond these, in the dim distance, another snowy range was visible.

The emigrants now divided into parties. One party reached Owens Lake, and turning south, finally passed over the Sierras by the way of Walkers Pass and went down the valley of the Kern River. Another, the Bennett party, including some women and children, remained at the springs in Death Valley, while two of the men started out alone, in the hope of reaching the settlements and returning with food. These men crossed the Panamint Range and struggled on for days in a southwesterly direction, over desert valleys and mountains. They were frequently on the point of giving up in despair for want of food and water.

At last, far to the south, the snowy crest of the San Gabriel Range came into sight. Continuing in a southwesterly direction through the Mohave Desert, the men reached a low pass in the mountains and followed a stream until they came upon a Mexican ranch, where the sight of green meadows, upon which horses and cattle were feeding, delighted their weary eyes.

Several animals were secured and loaded with food. Then the men turned back into the desert. They at last reached the desolate valley again, after an absence of about a month, and found most of the party alive, although nearly driven to despair. With the aid of a mule and several oxen, the party came safely to the fertile valleys near the coast.

Another party, known as the Jayhawkers, struggled on behind the two men who went for relief, and the most of its members also came safely out of the desert, though not without extreme suffering. In all, fourteen people of this expedition perished.



If you ever have an opportunity to travel over this region, you will wonder that any of the people escaped. The seemingly endless succession of deserts and mountains, the lack of food, and the scanty supply of water, often unfit to drink, would lead one to think that strangers to these wilds would be far more likely to perish than to find their way out.



THE CLIFF DWELLERS AND THEIR DESCENDANTS

The region of the high plateaus of the southwestern United States presents many strange and interesting aspects. Equipped with pack animals for the trails, and conducted by a guide who knows the position of the springs, one might wander for months over this rugged and semi-arid region without becoming weary of the wonderful sights which Nature has prepared.

In travelling over the plateau one has to consider that often for long distances the precipitous walls of the canons cannot be scaled, and that the springs are few and inaccessible. To one not acquainted with the plateau it appears incapable of supporting human life. There is little wild game and scarcely any water to irrigate the dry soil.

However, if the country is examined closely, the discovery will be made that it was once inhabited, though by a people very different from the savage Indians who wandered over it when the white men first came. These early people had permanent homes and were much more civilized than the Indians. They lived chiefly by agriculture, cultivating little patches of land wherever water could be obtained.

Go in whatever way you will from the meeting point of the four states and territories, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico, and you will find the ruins of houses and forts. Upon the tops of precipitous cliffs, in the caves with which the canon walls abound, by the streams and springs, there are crumbling stone buildings, many of them of great extent, and once capable of sheltering hundreds of people. Scattered over the surface of the ground and buried in the soil about the ruins are fragments of pottery, stone implements, corn-cobs, and in protected spots the remains of corn and squash stems.

The people who once inhabited these ruins have been called Cliff Dwellers, because their homes are so frequently found clinging to the cliffs, like the nests of birds, in the caverns and recesses of the precipitous canon walls. The Cliff Dwellers have left no written records, but from a study of their buildings and of the materials found in them, and from the traces of irrigating ditches, we are sure that they were a peaceful, agricultural people.

The oldest ruins are probably those in the open and less protected valleys. It is evident that after these dwellings had been occupied for an indefinite time the more fierce and warlike Indians began to overrun the plateau region and make attacks upon the primitive inhabitants. These people, peacefully inclined and probably not strong in numbers, could find no protection in the valleys where they irrigated little patches of land and raised corn and squashes; so, retreating to the more inaccessible canons, they became cliff dwellers. Seeking out the caverns so abundant in these canons, they went to work with tireless energy to build for themselves impregnable homes and fortresses to which they could retreat when the savage Indians appeared.

The canon of Beaver Creek in central Arizona contains one of the most interesting of these fortresses, known as Montezuma's Castle. Many small buildings nestle along the sides of the canon upon the ledges and under over-hanging rocks, but Montezuma's Castle is the most magnificent of them all, and must have given protection to a number of families.

Halfway up the face of a cliff two hundred feet in height, there is a large cavern with an upward sloping floor and jagged overhanging top. Here with infinite toil the Cliff Dwellers constructed a fortress, the front of which rose forty feet from the foundation and contained five stories. This front was not made straight, but concave, to correspond to the curve of the cliff.

What an effort it must have been for these people, who had nothing but their hands to work with, to quarry the stone. To carry their materials from the bottom of the canon, by means of rude ladders, up the steep and rugged wall to the foot of the cavern, and then to lay the foundation securely upon the sloping floor, must have been a still harder task.

The stones were laid in mud, and in most cases were also plastered with it. Here and there little holes were left to let in light, but the rooms, with their low ceilings, would have seemed very dismal and dark to us. Beams were set in the walls to support the different floors. Smaller sticks were laid upon the beams, and then a layer of earth was placed over the top.

To pass through the openings between the different rooms the inhabitants had to crawl upon their hands and knees. The places where they built their fires are indicated by the dark stains which the smoke has left upon the walls. Broken pottery and corn-cobs are scattered profusely about the building. How safe these ancient people must have felt in this retreat, where they were protected, both from the storms and from their enemies!



Near some of the ruined dwellings in this region there are remains of buildings which are supposed to have been watch-towers. We can picture to ourselves the sentinels' alarm given to the workers in the fields at the approach of the savage Apaches, and the hasty flight of the Cliff Dwellers to the castle far up the canon wall,—the pulling up of the ladders and the retreat to the upper rooms from which they could look down in perfect safety. They must have kept water and food stored in the cave houses. As long as these supplies held out no injury need be feared from the attacking party.

But apparently there came a time when the Cliff Dwellers either abandoned their gardens and fortresses or were killed. It is possible that the climate of the plateau region became more arid and that many of the springs dried up, for there is no water now within long distances of some of the ruins. It is, perhaps, more probable that the attacks of the savages became so frequent that the Cliff Dwellers were driven from their little farms and were no longer able to procure food.

Those who were not killed by enemies or by starvation retreated southward and gathered in a few large villages, or pueblos, where they were still resisting the attacks of their enemies at the time of the coming of the early Spanish explorers.



A careful study of the early inhabitants of America reveals the fact that the Pueblo Indians are the descendants of the race of Cliff Dwellers. Their houses, their pottery, and their religious ceremonies are, so far as can be determined, very similar to those of the Cliff Dwellers. If you travel through northwestern New Mexico and northeastern Arizona, you will find the villages situated upon commanding rocks which are often surrounded by almost inaccessible cliffs. To these elevated villages all the food and water has to be carried from the valleys below. The houses are solidly built of stone, and rise, terrace-fashion, several stories in height, each succeeding story standing a little back of the one below. These houses can be entered only by a ladder from the outside. In time of danger the ladders are drawn up so that the walls cannot be easily scaled. There are a number of groups of the Pueblo Indians, but the Zuni and Moki are perhaps as interesting as any of them.



Wonderful indeed are some of the pueblo villages which were still occupied at the time of the coming of the Spanish, more than three centuries and a half ago. As in the pueblos now occupied, there were no separate family houses. The people of an entire pueblo lived in one great building of many rooms. Some of the pueblos were semi-circular, with a vertical wall upon the outside, while upon the inside the successive stories formed a series of huge steps similar to the tiers of seats in an ancient amphitheatre.



In the pueblo of Pecos were the largest buildings of this kind ever discovered. One had three hundred and seventeen rooms, and another five hundred and eighty-five. Taos is another of the large pueblos, and is especially interesting because it is still inhabited. This great building has from three to six stories with several hundred rooms. In the foreground of the photograph (Fig. 76) appears one of the ovens in which the baking is done. In some of these pueblos the women still grind their corn by hand in stone matates, just as their ancestors did for many hundreds and perhaps thousands of years.



In northwestern New Mexico there is a remarkable flat-topped rock known as the Enchanted Mesa, which rises with precipitous walls to a height of four hundred feet above the valley in which it stands. It was long believed that human beings had never been upon this rock, although there were traditions to the effect that a village once existed upon its summit. According to the tradition, the breaking away of a great mass of rock left the summit inaccessible ever afterward. The cliffs were scaled recently by the aid of ropes, and evidences were found in the shape of pottery fragments, to show that the Indians had once inhabited the mesa. Two or three miles away, across the valley, is the large village of Acoma, where a great deal of pottery is made for sale.

The pottery of the Pueblo Indians is very attractive, and their religious festivals and peculiar dances draw many visitors. These Indians no longer fear attacks from the savage Apache or Navajo, but they have become so used to their rock fortresses that it is not likely they will soon. leave them. The Navajos now live in peace and raise large herds of sheep and goats; while the more savage Apaches have been gathered upon reservations, never more to go upon the war-path. Most of the Apaches still live in their rude brush habitations.



While the Pueblo Indians make attractive pottery, the Navajos are noted for their blankets. The wool, which is taken from their herds, is dyed different colors, and woven upon their simple looms into the most beautiful and costly blankets.

We usually think of the native inhabitants of America as leading a wild and rude life, moving from place to place in search of food, and constantly engaged in warfare with one another. The Pueblo Indians alone are different. Possibly if the white man had never come to America these Indians might in time have become highly civilized. But it is more than likely that in their struggle with Nature in this wild and rugged country, where they were constantly subjected to attacks from their more savage neighbors, they would have sunk lower instead of rising, and would finally have disappeared.

The Apaches were dreaded alike by the agricultural Indians and the early Spanish. Issuing from their mountain fastnesses the Apaches would raid the unprotected villages and missions, and then retreat as quickly as they came. For many years after the American occupation prospectors had to be constantly on their guard, and many are the tragedies that have marked this remote corner of our country.



THE LIFE OF THE DESERT

During the blinding glare of summer the deserts of southwestern Arizona and the adjoining portions of California are forbidding in the extreme. Day after day the pitiless sun pours its heat upon the vast stretches of barren mountain and plain, until the rocks are baked brown and it seems as if every particle of life must have left the seared and motionless plants.

Month after month passes without rain. Now and then light clouds float into sight, and occasionally rain can be seen falling from them, but they are so high that the drops all disappear in the dry and thirsty air long before they can reach the ground. Cloud-bursts may take place about the peaks of some of the higher mountains, but they have very little effect upon the life out on the plains.

Animals and plants brought to this region from a moister climate must drink continually to make up for the rapid evaporation of moisture from their bodies; a day without water may result in death. And yet the living things that have homes in the desert can resist the dry air for many months without a renewal of their moisture. There are areas where the average rainfall is less than three inches, and sometimes two years may pass without a drop of rain. It will certainly be worth our while to find out something about these desert plants and the way in which Nature enables them to get along with so little water.

Go where we will, from the moist heat of the tropics or the dry heat of the deserts to the icy north, we find that everywhere the plants and animals are suited to the climate of the particular place in which they live. Therefore we might conclude that they thrive better in those places than they would anywhere else, but that is not always true.

A struggle is going on continually among plants for a footing in the soil and for a share of the sunshine. The weaker plants are generally killed, while those hardy enough to survive have to adapt themselves to new conditions of life, becoming stunted and deformed upon barren slopes; but they have plenty of room there because fewer plants are striving for the same place.

It is not likely that the deserts of the southwest have always been as dry as they are now. As the amount of rainfall slowly lessened through thousands of years, the animals could migrate when it became too dry; but the plants, fixed in one place, had either to give up and die, or change their characters and habits to suit the demands of the changing climate. The fact that these extremely dry deserts are filled with plant life to-day is without doubt due to this ability to change.

In a moist, warm climate plants are luxuriant; they take up a large amount of water through their roots and evaporate it through the leaves. If placed in a desert, such plants would immediately wither and die. To avoid too rapid evaporation the bodies of the desert plants have become smaller, and their leaves have either shrunk greatly or wholly disappeared. Strong-smelling, resinous juices exude from the remaining leaves and stems, and form a surface varnish through which water passes with difficulty.

Some forms of plant life, such as the prickly-pear, are provided with fleshy stems which hold a supply of moisture to be drawn upon during the long dry season. Men and animals are sometimes saved from death by chewing the pulp of the prickly-pear or other cactuses. After a period of exceptional drought, the stems of the prickly-pear lose their bright green color and become shrunken.



The development of the underground part of the plant is frequently out of all proportion to the part above the surface. The manzanita, which grows in the semi-arid climate of southern California, is a low shrub with branches that are rarely large enough for fuel. The roots, however, are large and massive, and are extensively used for firewood.

The desert plants are armed, not only against the dry air, but against the wandering animals which would bite them and suck their juices. The smell of the sagebrush is such that very few animals will touch it. Other plants are protected by thorns. In fact, the drier the region, the more thorny are its plants. A little shrub called the crucifixion thorn has no leaves at all, nothing but long, sharp spines. Besides the straight thorns there are curved and also barbed ones, for every conceivable form is represented among the plants of these dry lands.

As the desert plants are armed against the animals, so the animals are armed against each other. Many of the insects and reptiles are extremely poisonous; the greater the heat of their habitat, the more dangerous are their bites. The horned toad, while not poisonous, is protected by having horny spines upon its head and back. The little rattlesnake known as the "side-winder" is perhaps the most dangerous of all, although the tarantula, centipede, and scorpion are formidable foes. The Gila monster, long believed to be so dangerous, is now considered non-poisonous under ordinary conditions.



The desert tortoise is perhaps the most remarkable of all the animals of the desert. It is rare, and little is known of its habits except that it lives in the most arid valleys of southeastern California, far removed from any water. This tortoise has a diameter across its shell of at least eighteen inches. Its flesh is much prized by the Indians and prospectors. A specimen which had been without water for an indefinite period was dissected, and the discovery was made that upon each side there was a membranous sac, containing clear water, perhaps a pint in all. The desert tortoise, then, carries his store of water with him, and is thus enabled to go many months without a new supply.



A trip across the deserts of the lower Colorado in spring, before the bracing air of winter has entirely gone, is one never to be forgotten. The poisonous insects and reptiles are not at this time warmed up to full activity, while many peculiar plants are just coming into bloom.

Let us study some of the strange forms growing thickly over the rocky slopes and sandy plains. There are miles of forest, but not such a forest as we are accustomed to see. Tall, fluted columns of the giant cactus (saguaro), with rows of sharp spines, reach upward to a height of from twenty to fifty feet. At one or more nodes, bud-like branches spring from the main trunk and, curving upward, form columns about the parent stem.



The giant cactus bears near the top a purple flower and a large, edible fruit. This fruit, which has a red pulp, is a favorite food with the Indians, and also with many insects and birds. It is gathered by means of long forked sticks, for if it should drop to the ground it would be broken. The pulp of the stalk yields a little juice or sap which is used by the Indians when hard pressed for water.



Scattered among the huge club-shaped columns of the saguaro is the cholla, the next largest of the cactuses. This species, which is tree-like in its branching and in rare cases grows to a height of twelve feet, bears bright red or yellow flowers. One must approach with care, for its jointed stems are so easily broken that at the slightest touch of the hand or clothing, pieces break off and adhere firmly by means of their sharp curved and barbed spines. Another species of the cholla is small, reaching but a foot or two above the ground, but this and other low forms so cover the ground in places that one has to be constantly on guard to keep from running the spines into his feet.

These are not all the plants of this wonderful forest. The ocatilla is a cactus-like form having a group of long slender stems bunched together at the root. In the spring each is tipped with a spike of red flowers, and as the snake-like stalks wave in the breeze they present an appearance scarcely less attractive than the saguaro.



Scattered among the vegetation just mentioned is the palo verde (green tree), so named from the yellowish green of its bark. It is remarkable for the small size of the leaves, which afford scarcely any shade for the traveller upon a hot summer day. (Fig. 84.)

Along the dry water courses we find the mesquite, a tree which does not grow upon the gravelly plains and rocky slopes, for it needs more moisture than most of the desert vegetation. In the spring it puts out delicate green leaves which form a pleasing contrast with the other plants.

Riding through one of these forests in the deepening twilight, one is impressed with a feeling of awe and mystery by the strange, weird shapes outlined against the sky. In the cooler air of evening the animals come from their retreats. The insects and the snakes are then abroad, and if one is on foot the sudden buzz of a rattlesnake is not a pleasant sound to hear.



The prickly-pear prefers slopes not quite so dry and hot as those of the forest just described. Its broad, spade-like, jointed stems are very interesting. The red fruit clustered upon their extremities is not disagreeable to the taste, but is covered with a soft, prickly down.

Associated with the prickly-pear is a species of agave, but this does not grow so large in Arizona as it does farther south in Mexico. The plant is familiar to us as the common century plant of our gardens. The long fleshy leaves with spines at the ends are clustered at the surface of the ground, and from their centre, at blooming time, rises a tall flower stalk. The agave requires many years to mature. When the flower stalk has once started it grows rapidly, but after blossoming the plant dies.

The mezcal, or pulque, the national drink of the Mexicans, is made from the sap of the agave. The fibre of the agave, known as sisal hemp, is used in the manufacture of rope, twine, mats, brushes, etc. Other parts of the plant have various uses.



There are many kinds of yucca in the more elevated portions of the desert. They range in size from those only two or three feet high, of which the Spanish bayonet is a type, to the giant yucca of the Mohave Desert, which attains the proportions of a tree and forms thick forests over an area of many miles. The Spanish bayonet, with its long stalk of white, waxy blossoms, presents a very beautiful appearance, as do also the young specimens of the tree yucca.

At rare intervals, once perhaps in many years, there is an unusual amount of rainfall in the spring, and in a few weeks the desert becomes transformed as if by magic. Seeds germinate, the presence of which one would never have suspected in the drier weather. In an incredibly short time the long gravelly or sandy slopes about the bases of the mountains are covered with a veritable carpet of green, yellow, and red. The sand verbena, the evening primrose, baby blue-eyes, and different kinds of lilies grow so thickly in places that every footstep crushes them.



But in a few short days the beauty has disappeared. The seeds mature speedily and drop into the sand. A hot wind withers the stems and leaves and blows them away; drifting sands take the place of the rich carpet. How readily these plants have adapted themselves to the brief period in which life is possible!

Thus it is that this vast region about the lower Colorado, although so dry and hot, and at first sight apparently so unfitted for sustaining life, nevertheless supports its share. Many of the plant forms have assumed strange and monstrous shapes in their efforts to withstand the hard conditions in the struggle for existence, while others simply lie in waiting, sleeping during the long dry year, but ready to spring into life when the favorable showers come, as they sometimes do.



THE PONY EXPRESS

Although it is only a little more than fifty years since the discovery of gold was made and the rapid settlement of the West began, what a change has come over this great region! It was at first supposed to be impossible to connect the growing settlements upon the Pacific with the East by anything more than a wagon road, and those who advocated the building of a railroad were ridiculed. Now the journey across the continent is made upon smooth steel tracks in comfortable coaches, for the skill of the engineer has overcome the difficulties of the desert, the mountain wall, and the canon.

The pioneers who pushed westward from the Mississippi River with their slow ox-teams took all summer to reach the fertile valleys of California and Oregon, and considered themselves fortunate if they arrived at their destination before the coming of the winter storms.

The first overland stage line was established by way of New Mexico and Arizona, terminating at Los Angeles. Twenty-two days were required for this part of the tiresome and dangerous trip. The route was longer and more desert-like than that farther north across Nevada, but the winter storms were avoided.

The stage-coach proved too slow for the needs of the growing settlements upon the Pacific slope. A telegraph line was planned, but it could not be completed for some time, and even then it was probable that the Indians would destroy the poles and wires.

Then came the idea of a relay of fast messengers upon horseback, and the pony express was organized. It is difficult to believe that by this means the journey of two thousand miles between St. Joseph, a point upon the Missouri a little above Kansas City, and Sacramento, California, was once made in about eight days. This is only a little more than twice the time required by the fast trains at present.

For two years the trip was regularly made in about nine days, averaging two hundred and twenty miles a day. It can be readily understood that this wonderful feat required many relays of men and horses scattered along the route. The express rider had no well-graded roads to follow, but only the rough trail of the emigrants. This led across broad deserts and over rugged mountains, and throughout most of the journey exposed the rider to the attacks of Indians.

Let us take a map and trace the route of the express. It followed closely the main overland trail which the gold-seekers had opened. Now towns and cities are scattered along the old trail, and the railroad crosses and recrosses it. But let us try to picture the country as it appeared in its wild state.

Mountains, valleys and plains made up the landscape. Vast herds of buffalo darkened the Great Plains east of the Rocky Mountains, while farther west were numerous bands of antelope. The streams were filled with beaver and other fur-bearing animals. Here and there along the rivers were Indian villages with their curiously shaped tepees. Even the deserts of Nevada were not uninhabited, for the Indians lived there also, gathered in little family groups about the desolate springs.

When we speak of the overland trail we do not mean a narrow path for animals, but the wagon road, rude though it was, which the early emigrants had made. They were determined to cross the continent, no matter what the difficulties and dangers. Wagons could be drawn by the oxen over the plains and deserts with little difficulty, although there were some dangerous rivers to be crossed. Mountains and canons offered the most serious obstructions. In many places the wagons had to be let down over precipices with ropes, or be taken apart and carried piece by piece around the obstructions.

It was not the mountains alone which made the trip "across the plains" one long to be remembered. It was often difficult to obtain water and fodder for the animals, and at many points savage Indians, bent upon plunder, were in hiding, waiting for a chance to stampede the cattle or kill the emigrants. The way was marked by abandoned wagons, household goods, bones of cattle, and the graves of human beings.

The trail led from the Missouri across the state of Kansas to the Platte River, then followed this long stream to its head at South Pass on the continental divide. From the South Pass the trail led southwest past Fort Bridger, in southwestern Wyoming, through Echo Canon and over Emigrant pass of the Wasatch Range down to Salt Lake City, which had been founded but a short time before the discovery of gold. West of Salt Lake City the trail skirted the northern shore of the Great Salt Lake, and after passing a low mountain divide in what is now northwestern Utah, reached the head waters of the Humboldt River. Thence the path ran along by this river down to the place where it disappeared in a vast sandy desert known as the sink of the Carson. The Carson River, after the dreary desert was passed, led the emigrants still westward toward a wall of mighty mountains known as the Sierra Nevada. Here Nature seemed to have done her utmost to shut off California, with its fertile valleys and rich gold-fields, from the longing eyes of the emigrants. There are, however, several low places in the range, and through one of these openings, at the head of the Carson River, the travellers gained the western slope of the mountains. Then in good time they reached the mining town of Placerville, and at length Sacramento, the capital of California.



In order that the pony express might make the time required over the two thousand miles, five hundred horses and several hundred men were needed. The stations were placed about ten miles apart and were strongly built so that they might withstand the attacks of the Indians. These stations, nearly two hundred in number, all had to be supplied by means of freight teams, which often hauled hay, grain, and food for the messengers for hundreds of miles.

The horses selected for the messengers to ride were the small, sure-footed ponies called mustangs. Through a stretch of ten miles the pony was pushed to its utmost speed, then it was carefully groomed, fed, and rested until the time came to make the return trip.

In selecting the riders three things were of great importance: they must be light in weight, must be possessed of great powers of endurance, and also must be brave and resolute. At each station, as the time approached for the express to arrive, the relay horse was saddled and in waiting. As the rider dashed in he jumped from his horse, and with but a moment's rest, threw the saddle-bags containing the letters upon the fresh horse and was off again, riding like the wind. Upon smooth stretches the horses often made twenty miles an hour, but it was quite impossible to maintain this speed over the rocky and rugged portions of the route. Storms and Indian ambuscades often delayed the riders. Sometimes the messenger kept up a running fight with the Indians for miles.

The riders were frequently killed, but the mail-bags were rarely lost. If a rider did not come in on time, it was known that something serious had happened, and search was immediately made. The riders were not allowed to stop for any purpose whatsoever; neither storms of the greatest severity nor even the presence of hostile Indians near the trail kept them from their duty. One of the few riders who are still living says that he was never afraid except on dark, cloudy nights. At such times he made no attempt to guide his horse, but trusting to the intelligence of the well-trained animal, gave it rein, and at the same time spurred it to its utmost speed. Think of riding at such speed into the dark night, not knowing what is ahead of you! The rider's only safety lay in the carefulness and sagacity of the horse. Such a ride called for more courage than did a conflict with Indians!



The pony express carried no passengers. It carried no freight, not even the usual express package. The messenger was intrusted with nothing but two bundles of letters carefully stowed away in a pair of saddle-bags.

The letters were not like our ordinary letters, for the paper used was the thinnest and lightest possible. Hundreds of the letters weighed only a few pounds. It was very important that there should be no great weight, for if the horses were heavily loaded, they could not make the required time. Only those whose business was of great importance could afford to send letters by this express, for the charge was five dollars upon each letter.

In spite of the high charge the pony express is said never to have been profitable, for the expenses were very heavy. It was discontinued in 1860, as by that time a telegraph line had been constructed across the continent.



HOW CLIMATE AND PHYSICAL FEATURES INFLUENCED THE SETTLEMENT OF THE WEST

The story of the exploration and settlement of the Pacific coast, and of the great region lying between the Pacific slope and the Mississippi Valley, offers a most interesting opportunity to study the control which physical features of the earth exert upon the trend of men's activities. The position of the mountains, the courses of the rivers, and the character of the sea-coast have all helped to shape the history of the West. The presence of gold in the rocks of the Sierra Nevada mountains was the chief incentive which led to the breaking down of the barriers placed by Nature between the Pacific and the Mississippi basin.

When an unknown land is accessible by water, the shore line offers the easiest means for the first explorations and settlements. So it came about that nearly all the eastern coast of North America was known before men ventured far into the interior. Then the large rivers, like the St. Lawrence, the Hudson, and the Mississippi, seemed to offer inviting routes into the recesses of the continent, but exploration through the pathless woods and rough mountains was slow.

It was soon discovered that the Hudson was a short river and did not lead across the continent as was at first hoped. Because of the absence of other large rivers upon that portion of the coast which the English occupied, their settlements did not spread westward as rapidly as they otherwise would have done. The country was covered with dense forests, and savage Indians disputed the right to occupy it. In time, however, passes were found leading over the Appalachian Mountains to the Ohio River and through the Mohawk Valley to the region of the Great Lakes.

The advantages for travel offered by the St. Lawrence River and the chain of lakes above it were utilized at an early day. The route of the French missionary explorers and fur traders was from Montreal up the Ottawa River, then by a short portage and a series of small lakes to Lake Huron. From this point the most remote shores of Lakes Superior and Michigan could be easily reached. By the aid of several small bodies of water west of Lake Superior, Lake Winnipeg and Great Slave Lake were finally discovered; but from this point the waterways into the West were small and could be followed no farther, so that it was a long time before the Rocky Mountains were crossed.

By floating down the Illinois River the French arrived at the Mississippi, explored much of its course, and took possession of the country in advance of the English. This fact was directly due to the difficulties which the English explorers experienced in forcing their way over the Appalachian highlands.

The Spanish explored the southern shores of the continent, and crossing the Isthmus, were the first to behold the Pacific. The fact that the Pacific coast of North America was so easily reached at this point gave the Spanish a great advantage, and explains why they gained such a hold upon the lands bordering that ocean. It was a comparatively simple matter for them to fit out ships, and sailing north and south, to take possession wherever they desired. However, when they had gone as far as California, their progress was for a long time almost completely blocked by storms and head winds, for the prevailing direction of the wind is down the coast. The Spanish finally reached Vancouver Island, but never succeeded in making settlements north of San Francisco. Even the interior of California was little known to them, for the mountains and deserts discouraged their progress in that direction.

From an examination of a map we might suppose that the Colorado River would offer as good a means for penetrating the continent as did the Mississippi River, but as a matter of fact it is navigable for a comparatively short distance. The Spanish made one attempt to ascend this river, but finding themselves surrounded on every hand by a most desolate, barren country, they turned back before reaching the Grand Canon. In the eager search for gold the Spaniards pushed north from Mexico and planted settlements in Arizona and New Mexico, but upon the northwest their progress was stopped by canons and deserts.

Now we are prepared to understand why it was that the western portion of North America remained for so long a time a mysterious and unknown region. There were no waterways by which it could be explored, while snow-clad mountains and deserts made access to it doubly difficult.

By the beginning of the last century the Americans had overcome the natural obstacles in their westward progress, and their settlements reached as far into the wilderness as the Mississippi River. Hunters and traders were soon pushing far beyond, spreading over the Great Plains and up to the very base of the Rocky, or Stony Mountains, as they were then called. The Missouri River became the great highway into the Northwest, for the adventurers took advantage of the streams wherever possible. Many other rivers were discovered flowing from the western mountains, but with the exception of the Platte and Arkansas they were generally too shallow for navigation even with a light canoe.

Starting in the early spring from the mouth of the Missouri, the hardy trappers sailed and paddled up the river, taking several months to reach the head of navigation at the Great Falls. In the autumn, when the boats were loaded with furs, it was a comparatively easy matter to drop down the river with the current. It would have been almost impossible to transport the loads of goods on pack-horses across the thousand miles of prairie, where the traders would be subject to attack from hostile Indians.

Adventurous men pushed farther and farther west through the passes in the mountains and began trapping upon the waters which flow into the Pacific. It had long been supposed that the Rocky Mountains formed a barrier beyond which our country could not be extended, and that the Pacific slope was made up of mountains and deserts not worth securing.

The explorers showed that the Rocky Mountains were not continuous, but consisted of partly detached ranges, and that while their eastern fronts were indeed almost impassable for long distances, there were places so low that it was difficult to locate the exact spot where the waters parted to seek the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico. In southwestern Wyoming the continental divide, known as the Great Divide mesa, though more than a mile above the sea, is but a continuation of the long, gentle slope of the Great Plains.

The Rocky Mountains decrease in height toward the south, near the line between New Mexico and Colorado. Here is situated Raton Pass, an ancient Indian highway from the valley of the Arkansas to the Rio Grande. In the early half of the last century this trail was much used by the caravans of traders and came to be known as the Santa Fe trail.



In the early days of the American occupation of California, the Santa Fe trail became an important route to the Pacific. From the Mexican town of Santa Fe it led down the valley of the Rio Grande, following the old road to Mexico, and then turned west across the broad plateau of the continental divide, not far from the present course of the Southern Pacific Railroad. Passing Tucson, the road kept near the course of the Gila River to Fort Yuma, and then led over the Colorado Desert to Los Angeles. This path avoided all the high mountains, but much of it lay across deserts, where the heat and scarcity of water made it an impracticable route for the emigrants.

One not acquainted with the physical geography of the West might wonder why the gold-seekers on their way to California did not make use of the Missouri River, which, except for the Great Falls, was navigable for small boats to the very base of the Rocky Mountains. A partial explanation is found in the report of the hardships endured by the Lewis and Clark exploring expedition, and later by the Astor party, which went out to found a fur trading post at the mouth of the Columbia. It had been supposed that after once crossing the continental divide it would be an easy matter to embark upon some stream and float down to the Pacific Ocean. The parties referred to became lost in the defiles of the mountains, and when they finally reached the Snake River it was only to find that rapids and waterfalls continually obstructed navigation. Although there was in most places plenty of water upon this northern route, yet the mountains were impassable for wagons.

Because of these conditions the emigrants started out boldly across the plains, following the general course of the Platte River, and crossing the Rocky Mountain divide at the South Pass in western Wyoming, a place famous in its day. At this point those who were going to Oregon turned northwestward to Fort Hall, a trading post of the Hudson Bay Company. From here they crossed southern Idaho, keeping near the course of the Snake River until they reached the point where it enters the grand canon; there they left the river, and climbing over the Blue Mountains, entered the fertile valleys about the present city of Walla Walla. From this place the emigrants followed the Columbia River to The Dalles, whence they proceeded either by boat or raft until Fort Vancouver and the mouth of the Willamette were finally gained. Wagons were taken through on this route, and it was not dangerous, although accidents sometimes happened at the Cascades, where locks were built at a later day.



The emigrants for California, who were the most numerous, turned southwest at South Pass, and after crossing the Wasatch Range through Emigration Canon, came out upon the plain of Great Salt Lake. Then, traversing desert plains, they reached the Humboldt River, which they followed until it sank into the sands.

Several routes had been opened across the Sierra Nevada mountains into California, but those through the Carson and Donner passes were most used. Several high ranges of mountains lay between the Willamette Valley of Oregon and the Great Valley of California, so that in the early days there was very little travel between these two territories. The overland trip required so long a time, and involved such dangers and hardships, that many preferred the water route, in spite of the fact that its ships were crowded, and the voyagers must cross the fever-infected Isthmus.

It is very interesting to note how widely different the rivers are upon the opposite sides of the Rocky Mountains. Those upon the east, with the exception of the Missouri at the Great Falls, are not marked by waterfalls after leaving the mountains. There are few canons of importance. The streams generally flow in channels only slightly sunken below the general level of the Great Plains. The streams upon the west, on the contrary, are broken by rapids and waterfalls, and are generally buried in canons so deep and precipitous that in places a man might die of thirst in sight of water.

No other great migration of people over the surface of the earth ever encountered such difficulties as that which pressed westward after the discovery of gold. It was at first thought that railroads could not be constructed through the mountains and deserts, and until the mineral wealth of the West became known, many men believed that the greater portion of the country was not worth taking.

It would be interesting to consider each of the main lines of railroad which connect the Mississippi Valley with the Pacific, and study the features of the country through which it runs, determining as far as possible the surveyor's reasons for selecting that particular course. Some of the railroads follow for long distances the routes of the emigrants. The emigrants, in their turn, often made use of the ancient Indian trails.



While Nature seems to have striven to raise impassable barriers to shut off the Pacific slope from the rest of the continent, yet she failed at some points, and through the unguarded passes the wild animals and Indians first found their way. Then came the trappers, prospectors, farmers, and at last the railroad, until the wilderness was over-run.

Because of its temperate climate, abundant rainfall, and rich soil, the Mississippi Valley was rapidly settled after the pioneers had once reached it. The plains rising slowly westward toward the base of the Rocky Mountains were found to be more arid the farther they were explored. Consequently there exists a broad strip of plain which is even to-day sparsely settled. The emigrants went on to the fertile valleys nearer the Pacific, where the rainfall is more abundant. The American settlers did not then understand irrigation, although it was practised by the Mexicans to the south. Because the discovery of precious metals was first made in California, the pioneers crossed the intervening mountains without giving a thought to the mineral riches which might be concealed in their depths. Later, mines were opened in the mountains all through the arid regions. The necessity of providing food for the miners brought about the discovery that the desert lands were very productive wherever the waters of the streams could be brought to them.



THE LIFE OF THE PROSPECTOR

Perhaps some of us who have comfortable homes, sleep upon soft beds, wear neat clothes, and can obtain every variety of food that we wish, think with pity of the men who lead a rough and lonely life among the mountains far from all comforts. Let us learn something more about the life and work of the prospectors, for we may find much that is desirable in their experiences.

Not many thousands of years ago our ancestors led what we would now call a wild and savage life. They had no permanent homes, but wandered here and there in search of food, and lived in caves or constructed the rudest kind of shelter from the storms. Perhaps we are right in feeling thankful that we were not born in those primitive times, but are there not really many things to regret about the way in which we have to live at the present day?

The utterly free outdoor life is not open to many. We have little or no opportunity to become acquainted with Nature, the guardian of our ancestors. The woods, the rocks, the mountains, and the dashing streams are almost complete strangers to many of us.

Many men are now obliged to go every day to their work in office or shop, and spend the hours shut in from the fresh air and bright sunshine. At night they sleep in rooms into which they admit little fresh air for fear of taking cold. To-day each man has to learn to do one thing well to the exclusion of nearly everything else, in order to make a living. For this very reason we are in danger of becoming human machines and of losing the use of some of the powers with which Nature has endowed us. Many things about our present mode of life are not natural to us, but through successive generations we have become somewhat adapted to them. The Indians, if taken from a life in the open air and made to live as we do, often sicken and die.

The farmer enjoys much more freedom and more of the sweet fresh air than do the artisans and office workers; but of all the men in civilized countries the trappers and prospectors live most out of doors. To be sure, they have to endure many hardships and dangers, and their beds are not always the softest nor their food the best, but you will seldom find one who is willing to exchange his free life for work in the town or city.

The trappers have nearly disappeared. Their occupation will be gone with the passing of the wild animals which were once so abundant. The prospectors are, however, becoming more numerous year by year throughout the mountains of western America. To them we owe a great debt, for had not their searching eyes brought to light the hidden mineral deposits this portion of our country would be far more thinly populated than it is to-day.

The discovery of gold in California was accidental. A man named Marshall was building a mill for Sutter in the foot-hills of the Sierra Nevada mountains at the time (1848) when California had just come into the possession of the United States. While at work he noticed some shining grains in the sand of the mill-race. A little testing of the grains led him to the conclusion that they were gold.

The news spread rapidly over the world, and since that time a constantly increasing tide of gold-seekers has been pushing out into the unexplored portions of the earth. Comparatively few of these men have become wealthy, but their discoveries have led to the settlement of new regions and to the growth of important industries. In truth, if it were not for the deposits of valuable metals, large areas of the desert and mountainous West would be of small value.



The prospector needs little capital except health and strength, but he must be willing to lead a rough life. He will be more likely to succeed if he knows something about the different kinds of minerals and rocks, and is able to distinguish the valuable ones from those which are of little or no worth.

The prospector may have a pack-horse and a second horse to ride, or he may go afoot with merely two burros to carry blankets, provisions, and tools. A burro costs little and will live upon almost anything. The variety of food that can be carried is not large; such things as bacon, flour, sugar, beans, and coffee are the most important. With the rifle one may frequently add to the supply. This, you may think, is pretty hard fare, but life in the open air will make one hungry enough to relish almost any sort of food.

The prospector does not need a road or even a trail. He seeks the least-known portion of some mountain district where he has an idea that gold may be found. Through the canons he goes, and over the mountains, either on horseback or driving the burros before him. Water and grass are usually abundant, and the little cavalcade stops where night overtakes it. In the desert prospecting is more difficult and often dangerous, because of the scarcity of water. It is necessary to know the location of the few scattered springs, and to make one of the burros useful in carrying water kegs. A spring must be the starting-point in the morning, and a sufficient amount of water must be taken to last until the traveller can get back to the same spring or until he can reach another.

A pick, a shovel, and a hammer are among the most important parts of the prospector's outfit. Gold is a heavy substance, and as it washes down the mountain sides and into the gulches from some quartz vein, its weight finally takes it to the bed-rock beneath the sand and gravel. With his pick and shovel the prospector can reach the bed-rock. He takes some of the gravel from its hiding-place close to the rock, places it in a pan filled with water, and then, with a peculiar rotary movement, washes away the lighter materials, leaving the heavier substances and the gold, if there is any, at the bottom of the pan. If there is no trace of gold, the prospector goes on to another creek; but if some of the yellow metal is washed out, he tests the place thoroughly for more.

In searching for ledges the prospector spends his time in the smaller gulches and upon the mountain sides. Every piece of detached quartz that meets his eye is examined, and if any specks of gold appear, the search is directed toward the vein or ledge from which the specimen came. With the hammer, pieces of quartz are broken from the veins which here and there rise above the surface of loose and crumbling rock. When the worker finds a piece that is stained with iron and has the appearance of carrying gold, he places it in his bag and keeps it for further examination. At camp, the pieces of quartz are pounded to a powder in a mortar and then washed in a horn spoon. A string of fine grains of gold tells of the discovery of a rich vein.



It is not usually an easy matter to find home of a piece of stray quartz upon the mountain side. Days and weeks may pass while search is made up the slope, for the fragment must have come from some point above. But the ledge, once discovered, is traced along the surface for the purpose of determining its direction and extent.

When a promising bed of gravel or a vein of gold-bearing quartz is found, the prospector posts the proper notices of his right to the claim and has them recorded at the nearest land office. Then he makes a permanent camp by cutting down trees and building a cabin. The interior of the cabin is very simple. Its table and chairs are made of split lumber. One end of the single room is occupied by the bunk, and the other by a large fireplace. There may be no windows, and the roof may be made of earth piled upon logs, or of long split shingles commonly known as shakes.

Sometimes, after discovering a very rich quartz ledge, the prospector goes back to a settlement to attempt to interest some one in buying or developing it. Sometimes it happens that he loses the location of the vein and cannot go back to the place where it was discovered. In this way his discovery becomes a "lost mine," and grows in importance in people's minds as the story of its riches spreads from one to another. Although men may spend years looking for such mines, they are not often found again.

Frequently two men go prospecting together so that their work will be less dangerous and lonely. If they are not at once successful, they manage in some way to get supplies for a trip each year into the mountains. Often they are "grub-staked," that is, some man who has money furnishes their supplies in return for a share in their findings.

If they have enough to eat, the prospectors, in their snug cabin, are comfortable and happy. The cabin is built as near as possible to the mine, so that the men need not be cut off from their work during the stormy weather. The temperature underground is about the same in both winter and summer, so that winter storms and summer heat form no hindrance to the work.



Years spent in life of this kind lead men to love the mountains. They feel a sympathy with Nature and a companionship in her presence. When they have to visit the town for supplies, they long to get back to their little cabins. They feel lost in the whirl and confusion of the city.

Summer is a delightful time at the many little miners' cabins scattered through the mountains. The air is invigorating, the water pure and cold. There is everything in the surroundings to make one happy. In the winter the miner sits by his great fireplace, with the flames roaring up the chimney. He has no stove to make the air close and oppressive. About the fireplace his dishes are arranged—the kettle for beans, the coffee-pot, and the Dutch oven in which the bread is baked. If there are some old paper-covered story-books at hand, it does not matter how fiercely the storms rage without. Ask any old prospector who has spent years in this manner if he would exchange his cabin for a house in the city, and he will most decidedly answer "no."

This lonely life in the mountains seems to engender hospitality. The old-time prospector will make you welcome to his cabin and will share his last crust with you. When he asks you in to have some coffee and beans, he does not do it merely for the sake of being polite, and he will feel hurt if you do not accept his hospitality. His dishes may not be as white as those to which you are accustomed, but I will venture to say that you have never tasted better beans than those with which he will fill your plate from his soot-begrimed kettle.

We ought all to see more of this wildlife. Even if we do not care to, make our permanent homes among the mountains, it would do us good to go there every summer at least, and so not only become stronger, but cultivate that familiarity with and love for outdoor life which our ancestors enjoyed.



GOLD AND GOLD-MINING

Gold derives its value partly from its purchasing power, partly from those properties which make it serviceable in the arts, and partly from its beauty. The high esteem in which gold money is held is as much the result of its comparative rarity as of its physical properties. Among nearly all the nations of the world it has been agreed upon as a standard of exchange. Gold has one disadvantage as a medium of exchange; it is rather too soft to wear well. But this difficulty is overcome by alloying the gold with another mineral of nearly the same color,—copper, for instance.

In order that we may understand better the position which gold occupies in the arts and trades of the world, let us compare it with other metals, and first with platinum. This mineral is far less abundant and has many properties which make it valuable in the arts. Like gold, platinum is malleable and ductile and does not tarnish in the air, but it differs from gold in not being easily fusible, so that it is used in the laboratory for crucibles. The steel-gray color of platinum is, however, so much less attractive than the yellow of gold, that it is not used for ornamental purposes.

An effort was made at one time by Russia, where a comparatively large amount of platinum is found, to coin this metal into money, but its continued use was not found practicable because of its changing price in the markets of the world. If the leading nations would agree upon a fixed value for platinum, it might be used like gold as a medium of exchange.

Silver is brighter and more attractive than platinum, but is of little use in the laboratory. It has been found in recent years to be so much more abundant than gold that its value has decreased greatly as a commercial article. In our country when coined it has, like paper money, been given a value equal to gold.

The diamond has a value far exceeding that of gold, but this value is dependent almost wholly upon its ornamental properties, although the brilliant stone is also useful as an abrasive and cutting agent.

From these facts it is evident that gold, because of its rarity, its physical properties, and its beauty, combines a larger number of desirable characteristics than any other mineral.

Gold can be found in very small quantities nearly everywhere. It is present in all the rocks and also in sea-water. The gold that is distributed in this manner is of no value to us, for it would cost many times as much to obtain it as it is worth. Nature has, however, concentrated it for us in some places. In portions of the world where the crust has been folded and broken there are veins of quartz extending in long, narrow, and irregular sheets through the rocks. This quartz is the home of the gold, and it is usually found in hilly or mountainous regions.

Do not mistake the yellow iron pyrites for gold. Pyrites is brittle, while gold is malleable. You can hammer a little grain of gold into a thin sheet. Do not make the mistake, either, of thinking that the shining yellow scales of mica which you see in the sand in the bottom of a clear stream are gold. These yellow minerals that look like gold have been called "fools' gold" because people have sometimes been utterly deceived by them.



Upon the Pacific slope minerals are now being deposited in some of the openings of the rocks from which hot springs issue. A study of these springs has led to the opinion that the gold-bearing quartz veins were formed in a similar manner, but at a very remote time in the past.

The milky or glassy quartz, which is so hard that you cannot scratch it with the point of your knife, the little grains of pale yellow iron pyrites, and the grains and threads of gold scattered through the quartz, were at one time in solution in water. This water came from some region far down in the earth, farther than we can ever reach with the deepest shafts, and there, where it is very hot and the pressure is great, the water dissolved the little particles of gold and other minerals from the rocks; and then, gathering them up, bore them along toward the surface, depositing them as solid particles again in the form of veins in the fissures through which the stream was passing.



As the rocks upon the surface decay and the crumbling material is carried away by running water, the gold, being very heavy, washes down the hillsides and is at last gathered in the gulches. This fact explains why we find gold both in veins and in the gravel of the streams. Getting gold from the veins is called quartz-mining. Washing it from the gravel is called placer-mining; and if the gravel is deep and a powerful stream of water is required, the work is called hydraulic mining.



Everyone has heard of the Mother Lode of California. Every miner wishes that his mine were upon this famous lode, which is made up of a large number of quartz veins extending along the western slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and is marked by hundreds of important mines. A line of towns marks the course of the Mother Lode for over a hundred miles. They are almost entirely supported by the gold which the lode supplies.

The gold first discovered in California was placer gold. After the miners had worked over the stream gravels and had secured all that they could in that way, they began to search for the home of the gold. It could not always have been in the creek beds, and the miners were correct in thinking that it must have been washed from some other place. Gold was so frequently found in pieces of loose or float quartz that this fact finally turned their attention to the quartz veins which were numerous upon the mountain slopes. Then came the discovery of the series of great quartz veins now known as the Mother Lode.



When the miners first found the quartz flecked with gold, they used the simplest means for separating the two substances. If the quartz was very rich in gold, it was pounded and ground fine in a hand mortar. Then the lighter quartz was washed away and the gold left.

The miners also made use of the Mexican arastra. This is a very crude apparatus, and is employed even now by miners who cannot afford to procure a stamp-mill. To build an arastra, a circular depression ten or twelve feet wide and a foot or more deep is made in the ground. This depression is lined with stone, which forms a hard bottom or floor. Four bars extend outward from an upright post placed in the middle of the floor, and a large flat stone is fastened to the end of each bar by means of a rope. A horse is hitched to one of the bars, which is purposely left longer than the others. The ore is thrown into the arastra, and water is admitted, a little at a time. As the horse is driven around the stones are dragged over the circular depression, crushing the ore and setting free the gold.



This way of separating the gold was too slow, and in a short time the stamp-mill was invented. It has grown from a very simple affair into the great mill which crushes hundreds of tons of ore in a day. The iron stamps each weigh nearly half a ton. They are raised by powerful machinery and allowed to drop in succession upon the ore, which is gradually fed under them. The stamps crush the ore to a fine sand more easily and rapidly than could be done by any other method. Water is kept running over the ore, and as fast as it is crushed sufficiently fine for the particles to pass through a wire screen, the water with which they are mixed is allowed to flow over large plates of copper which have been coated with quicksilver. The latter mineral has an attraction for gold, and so catches and holds most of the particles, no matter how small they are.

The compound of gold and quicksilver is a soft white substance known as amalgam, utterly unlike either metal. When the amalgam is subjected to heat, the quicksilver is driven off in the form of a vapor, and the gold is left pure. The quicksilver vapor is condensed in a cool chamber and is used again.

The iron pyrites in the ore contains gold which cannot be separated by the crushing process and a machine called a concentrator has been invented to save this also. After passing over the copper plates the crushed rock and pyrites are washed upon a broad, flat surface, which is moving in such a way that the lighter rock waste is carried away by the water. The pyrites now appears as a dark, heavy sand. This sand is placed in a roasting furnace, where the sulphur is driven off, and the gold and iron are left together. Now the gold is dissolved by means of chlorine gas, with which it unites in a compound called gold chloride. From this compound the metallic gold is easily separated. All this may seem a complicated process, but it is carried through so cheaply that the ore which contains only two or three dollars to the ton can be profitably worked.



Not all quartz veins carry gold. There are many in which not a single speck of the precious metal can be found. Gold usually prefers the society of quartz to that of other substances, for minerals, like people, seem to have their likes and dislikes. Along the Mother Lode, however, gold is sometimes found in little bunches and "stringers" scattered through slate. In such cases the slate is mined and sent to the mill.

Some miners devote themselves to pocket mining. They trace the little seams in the rock, and where two seams cross they sometimes find what they call a "pocket." This is a mass of nearly pure gold of irregular shape, varying from a few dollars to thousands of dollars in value. This kind of mining is very uncertain in its results, for a man may make hundreds of dollars in one day, and then not find anything more for months.

The western slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains was once covered with the camps of thousands of placer miners. Piles of boulders and gravel are scattered along the creeks where the eager workers took out millions of dollars' worth of gold-dust and nuggets. Now many of the streams and gulches are entirely deserted. But in other places, where the quartz veins outcrop, there are scores of stamp-mills at work, night and day, pounding out the gold. Some of the mines have been sunk more than a half mile into the earth, and the gold is still as abundant as ever.

In some portions of the mountains hydraulic mining is more common than quartz-mining. Years ago many of the rivers occupied different channels from their present ones. The gravels of these old channels in the Sierra Nevada mountains, and in other parts of the West where gold-bearing veins occur, are rich in gold. In these channels the gold is so deeply buried that it cannot usually be obtained by means of pick and shovel. In order that the overlying gravel may be removed as cheaply as possible, water is supplied by means of ditches, often many miles long. From some near-by hill the stream is conducted down to the mine in strong iron pipes. It thus acquires a great force, and when directed against a gravel bank rapidly washes it away. Torrents of water bearing boulders, gravel, and sand, together with the particles of gold, are turned into sluice boxes lined at the bottom with quick-silver. This metal catches the gold and forms an amalgam as it does in the quartz-mills.



COPPER-MINING

There is a city hidden away in a narrow canon in the extreme southern portion of Arizona which is supported solely by a copper-mine. The canon lies upon the southern slope of a range of mountains, and from its mouth one can look far off to the south across the desert plains and mountains of Mexico. The city has an elevation of more than a mile above the sea, and the canon in which it is situated is so narrow and steep-walled that you can almost jump down from one street upon the roofs of the houses along the street below. Stairways, instead of walks, lead up the hillsides from the main street in the bottom of the canon.

You might well wonder at the position of the city, and think that out of all the waste land in this region a better place might have been selected for its location. But cities grow where people gather, and people do not come to live in the desert unless there is important work to be done there.

A party of prospectors who were searching carefully over the mountains found several mineral veins with green copper stains crossing this canon and outcropping in the adjacent hills. Claims were staked out and recorded at the nearest land office. Then shafts and tunnels were opened, and the miners became confident from the rich character of the ore that an important copper-mine might be developed.

Supplies were brought across the desert with teams, and cabins were built in the lonely canon. Then an enterprising man started a store. As the mine was opened farther, its importance was better understood. There was a call for more miners and the town grew larger. The houses clustered about the mine, the centre of all the activities. At last a railroad was built, and the town became a city, with narrow, winding streets occupying the winding canon, while tier upon tier of houses crept up the sides of the canon, which formerly had been covered only by growths of cactus and other plants of the desert.

If the mine should close, there would be no inducement to keep people in the locality, and the city would become merely a group of deserted buildings. Water is so scarce that only a small amount is allowed to each family, and it is delivered in barrels instead of by pipes. Provisions of all kinds are very expensive, for they have to be brought a long distance.

The great mine supports the thousands of inhabitants. The varied industries represented there are dependent upon it alone. As long as it pays to mine the copper, the people are as contented as if they were not tucked away in a canon in a remote corner of the world.

The most interesting things to be seen about the city are the mine and the smelter. In the former the ore is obtained; in the latter the ore goes through various processes until it comes out in the form of shining, metallic copper. The copper ore, we must understand, is not metallic or "native copper," as it is called when found pure, but a combination of copper with other substances which change its appearance entirely.



The mine is opened by a shaft, that is, a square hole sunk in the ground. The shaft of this mine is a thousand feet deep, and is being continually extended downward. If we wish to go down into the mine, we must put on some old clothes and get the foreman to act as guide. The cage in which we are to descend stands at the mouth of the shaft, suspended by a steel rope. It looks much like the elevators found in city buildings. At different levels horizontal passages, called drifts, extend to the right and left upon the vein of copper ore. We step out of the car at one of these levels and with lighted candles start to walk through a portion of the mine. There are so many miles of tunnels that it would take us days to go through them all.

Overhead, under our feet, and upon the sides of the drift, lies the vein of copper are, presenting a different appearance at different places. The various ores sparkle in the light and we gather specimens of each. The common are is chalcopyrite, a copper sulphide; that is, it is composed of copper and sulphur. It has a brass-yellow color, but is often stained with beautiful iridescent tints. In places the chalcopyrite has been changed to the delicate green carbonate of copper called malachite. In other places it has given place to the oxide of copper. The little crimson crystals of this mineral give bright metallic reflections.

The deposit of copper ore is apparently inexhaustible, for in places the vein widens so that chambers one hundred feet wide and several hundred feet long and high have been made in taking it out.

In going through the mine we have to be very careful not to step into openings in the floor of the passages, or drop rock fragments into them, for far below miners may be working. The places where the men are taking out the ore are called "stopes," and to reach them we have to crawl and creep through all sorts of winding passages, now through a "manhole," and now down a long ladder which descends into black depths.

From the stopes the ore, as it is blasted out, is shovelled into chutes running down to some drift where there are men with cars. Each car holds about a ton of ore, and after being filled it is pushed along the drift and upon a cage which raises it to the surface.



The mine is not wet, for there is so little rain in this region that there are few underground streams. In places, however, it is warm, for when the oxygen of the air reaches the fresh sulphide it begins to oxidize the ore; that is, it begins to burn it, and change it into a different compound, just as fire changes wood or coal. Wherever oxidation is going on, heat is produced.

Fresh air is constantly needed in these workings far underground. A supply is forced down in pipes, and then allowed to flow back to the surface. In this way a thorough circulation is kept up.

Underground one loses all thought of the changes between night and day, for it is always dark there. Consequently we are surprised on coming up from the mine to find that night has settled over the town. Lights are twinkling everywhere, and miners with their pails of luncheon are coming for the night shift.

Another interesting experience now awaits us in the form of a visit to the smelter. Here the bright copper is extracted from the rough-looking ores. How different the two substances appear! They look as if they had scarcely anything in common.

The interior of the smelter seems like a bit of the infernal regions set upon the earth. While watching what goes on, we might imagine that we were far down in the earth, where Vulcan, the fire god, was at work. At night the scene is particularly weird and impressive, for the shadows and general indistinctness make everything appear strange. The glowing furnaces, the showers of sparks, the roar of the blast furnaces, the suffocating fumes of sulphur, and the half-naked figures of the Mexican workmen, passing to and fro with cloths over their mouths, form all together a bewildering scene.

The ore is first pulverized, and then placed in large revolving cylinders, where it is roasted. A fire is started in the cylinder at first, but after the ore becomes so much heated that the sulphur in it begins to burn, no further artificial aid is necessary. Little by little the ore is added in quantities sufficient to keep the fire going. The object of the roasting is to drive off as much sulphur as possible.

After being raked from the roasting furnace, the ore is wheeled in barrows to the huge upright furnaces and is thrown in. Here such materials as limestone and iron are also added to aid in the formation of a perfectly fused or molten mass. These substances are known as fluxes. With the melting of the ore the copper begins to separate from the impurities.

The melted ore, in the form of a glowing liquid, gathers at the bottom of the furnace and runs out into a large kettle-like receptacle. When ore of these vessels is full it is tipped up and the molten copper which has collected at the bottom, because it is heavier than the slag, is allowed to run into another large kettle, supported by chains from a rolling truck above.



The slag is dumped into a car and is carried outside, while the huge dish containing the copper and some slag is swung to the opposite side of the building, where its contents are cast into another furnace. A very strong blast of air is forced up through the molten mass in this furnace, and the remaining portion of slag is blown out at the top in a shower of glowing particles.