A TRIP TO WALKER'S RIVER AND CARSON VALLEY.

[From Hutching's California Magazine, May and June, 1858]

  By *. *. - *.

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To the mountains ! - Ho for the mountains, was my joyous and almost involuntary exclamation, as I waved an adieu to a bevy of friends who had gathered on the stoops of two little cottages that stood side by side, just at the margin of the blackened space that now marked where, but a few days before, stood Columbia, that beautiful but ill-fated mountain city, then little else than a mass of mouldering ruins, and turned my horses head towards the bold range of mountains that rises immediately to the eastward, accompanied by three pleasant companions, all accoutred and provisioned for a journey of adventure and, mayhap, discovery, to the little known, though much talked of, Walker's River. Though an invalid myself, with scarcely more than sufficient strength to enable me to crawl into my saddle, yet I felt a thrill of joy and a wild enthusiasm at the thought of casting aside, for a season, all cares of business, and of being soon enabled to snuff the pure mountain air, unalloyed by the sickening vapor, and, more than all, the health-destroying dust that ever hovers about the area of civilization in California.

Ye who have never felt the palsying grasp of a subtle disease that is drawing the pale of oblivion, slowly but surely, over the vital organs, shrouding the soul with its dark shadows, mayhap to make the vision of an hereafter more bright and glorious, know not the wild, yet mournful enthusiasm of the weary invalid, as he recedes from the busy haunts of man, and penetrates deeper and deeper into the mountain solitudes, where his fevered brow may be cooled by the refreshing breeze that is purified by the limpid snow, and perfumed by the uncultured flowers—for, as he rises higher and higher, each new feature of wild grandeur that presents itself to his sensitive gaze, forces upon his susceptible reason new proofs, as it were, of a Divine Omnipotence, and he seems, as he stands on some lofty peak or overhanging crag, far removed from the busy world below, in closer communion with Him who doeth all things well, and though the cheek may bear the hectic blush and the eye the warning glow of death, yet the spirit of the soul is calm, for it feels that Immortality is real.

The day of our departure had been big with annoyances and hindrances incident to all parties bent upon like excursions. In the first place, one who was to have been of the party was prevented from going, or, rather, did not appear at the appointed time, and another had to be sought to fill his place—a matter which, however, was very easily accomplished Then a pistol had been left behind, and another gun was needed. One pack animal that we had relied upon could not be had, and another one must be hunted up; however, one was soon secured, (all but the secured,) for, after having engaged a mule, it could nowhere be found. Every nook and corner of the district was searched, but that "mula" was missing. It always had been just at hand, but, as a matter of course, now that it was wanted immediately, it took this particular opportunity to step out, and it was only after several hours' buscaring that it turned up.

All was now ready to commence packing, which task was soon accomplished, for though the day was far spent, we determined to make a start, in strict accordance with prior arrangements; and as the weather was exceedingly hot, we thought a few miles travel by moonlight would be even more pleasant than by the light of a scorching sun; and, accordingly, at 5 o'clock, P. M., on the third day of September, we were en route, with two pack animals, one month's provisions and the necessary accompaniments for rough camp-life; together with tools for prospecting, guns for hunting, fishing-tackle for fishing, and, in fact, fully prepared for a good time generally—with two dogs, as body guards.

At sunset we were at the Mountain House, situated at the top of the high ridge that rises immediately above Columbia. It was a calm and beautiful sunset; the tinge of the western horizon was peculiarly soft and mellow, which, together with our elevated position, made our spirits light and buoyant, for we were now fairly started upon our adventurous journey, and were even so soon almost at the verge of civilization, for low down in the valley we had just left, we could discern the blue, smoky vapor rising above Columbia, while immediately below us, at the base of the ridge, nestled he quiet little camp of Yankee Hill; beyond which, to the eastward, there are only a few ranches, together with the numerous lumber mills that are scattered through the vast tract of timber country, for a distance of fifteen miles.

Washing the dust from our throats with a cool beverage proffered us by the generous host of the Mountain House, Mr. Northey, we again set out for our destination for the night, eighth miles further on. The full moon shone out with all its splendor, and the cool breeze that swept over the ridge over which lay our road, made our jaunt for that evening a pleasant one. At 10 o'clock we reached ______ saw-mill, aroused the occupants to procure feed for our animals, which was kindly furnished us; and, for ourselves, we broached a box of sardines, which, with a biscuit and a cup of water, sufficed for our supper; after which, we spread our blankets on the stoop of the dwelling, and, though the bed was somewhat less soft than the one we had of late been accustomed to, yet the fatigue of the day caused us to sleep soundly and sweetly.

At early dawn we arose and made our breakfast after the style of our supper, with the addition of a cup of tea, and were soon moving again. Our road now for some twenty-five miles lay through the section of country situated between the south fork of the Stanislaus and the north fork of the Tuolumne. It is marked by nothing of interest, except being that through which run the monster ditches of the Tuolumne County and the Columbia and Stanislaus River Water Companies, and its vast products of lumber from which Tuolumne county is almost wholly supplied.

At 12 o'clock we arrived at a meadow, where we halted for a little while to rest. Here we watered our animals and quenched our own thirst at an ice-cold spring. We drank long and deeply, for we knew that our road to Strawberry Flat, a distance of thirteen miles, lay for the most part upon the high ridge that separates the two rivers, and without water for the entire distance, and as the sun was pouring down his rays upon us without his ever taking this fact into consideration, we might well expect to suffer somewhat; which anticipation was fully realized, for as we descended at 5 o'clock into that beautiful and romantic little valley, our lips were parched and voices husky, and to the limpid water of the little stream that meandered through it, the north fork of the Tuolumne, we paid an homage almost akin to that of the Arab to the Spring of the Desert.

Throwing the packs from our animals, we soon had them picketed in the luxuriant grass that covered the flat; a merry fire soon blazed up beside a cedar log hard by, and in a very short time a cup of tea—tin-cup, we mean—and a warm biscuit were placed at our service by our expert companion, P., which, together with a slice of pork held for a moment to the blaze on the end of a stick, made us a glorious supper, however much it may have been in contrast to the usual suppers in our respective boarding-houses. For this particular time I speak for my companions and for myself generally; for now I paid little respect to our festive board. I was an invalid at starting, and this day's journey, under a scorching sun, had nearly prostrated me, and at early twilight I spread my blankets close by the fire and rolled myself up in them; treating the proposition of Judge _____ for an early start on the morrow, rather coldly.

The morning found us less nimble than we had anticipated the evening previous. For my own part, I could hardly rise from my blankets; nor was I alone, now, in my tribulation, for the Judge's feet refused to stand the pressure of a boot—one ankle and five toes were blistered—and C. uttered several decisive grunts as he came out of his blankets; the cords of his legs had been put to too great a strain in climbing those tedious hills and in applying the boot somewhat freely to "mula," who, by the way, fully sustained her character as a mule, by " acting up" whenever opportunity offered. P. was the only sound man in the party, not even excepting the dogs! for they were foot-sore, and as he was not particular, we soon decided to lay by a day and recruit—a conclusion very easily arrived at, for, in addition to the reasons already given, we wished to visit one of the large reservoirs of the Tuolumne County Water Co., situated at the northern extremity of the valley, and distant about two miles from our camp; and then, too, we had noticed in the deep holes of the little branch just at hand, an abundance of mountain trout, which our judgment of what constituted good living made us desire to transfer to our spacious fry-pan.

Our morning meal dispatched, we turned our first attention to the trout, and invited them to partake of a grasshopper delicately tendered them on the point of a hook, but lo they did not appreciate our generosity, but on the other hand, rather insulted us for our kind attentions by eyeing the shining bait askant, giving apparently a dainty snuff and then turning lazily away in seeming disgust, while we peeped shyly over a projecting rock, or through a screening bush, with watery mouths in anticipation of fried trout. This caused us to scratch our heads in perplexity, but we soon hit upon a plan which "sort o' got 'em" in every sense of the word, by bringing our pick, shovel and pan into requisition, and draining and bailing out their holes, leaving them high and dry.

It was now proposed to visit the reservoir. For my own part, I felt hardly able to mount my horse, which my companions had kindly saddled for me, but finally summoned the necessary resolution and started, accompanied by the Judge and C., P. having volunteered to stay in camp. A half-hour's ride through a dense growth of pine, cedar and fir trees brought us to the margin of the beautiful sheet of water, formed by a monster dam thrown across the south fork of the Stanislaus by that energetic and pioneer of water companies, the Tuolumne County Water Co.

This reservoir, which is one of four which that enterprising company has constructed in the last two years, under the superintendence of the indefatigable -- Holton, and at a cost of about $135,000; it covers an area of about one mile in length by one-third to one-half mile in width, with an average depth, when full, of thirty feet. The dam is sixty feet high in the centre from the bed of the river, with a span of two hundred and fifty feet, and is built of heavy barked timber, platted and graveled, with an inclination of about thirty-eight degrees, so that the heavier the pressure of water, the firmer it is pressed down to its foundation. It is thrown across the mouth of a rugged cañon with solid granite for either abutment, and is, truly, a stupendous piece of work, reflecting much credit both upon the company and the superintendent. Since its completion it requires the attention of only two men, who gauge the water and repair leakages, and who live in a cabin near the dam.

On the north and east of the reservoir the mountains rise abruptly from the water to the height of many hundred feet, and are almost one solid mass of light granite, sparsely covered with stunted pine and cedar, and for the most part almost inaccessible. The view from the dam in this direction is grand and picturesque, and especially when the sun has just sunk behind the western ridge, and these hoary hills cast their dark shadows in the calm and placid water, which reflects, at the same time, all the tints of the mellow evening sky, the whole scene is one of rare romantic beauty.

The only approach to the dam is by a rugged and circuitous trail over a rocky point that makes out to the flat some third of a mile from the dam. Judge and C. being desirous of visiting it, started up the trail; while I, feeling in no way improved by my ride, lay down to rest in the shade of a little cedar, just at the water's edge, and at the termination of the rocky point. After the lapse of an hour I was aroused by the splash of an oar, and, on looking up, saw my companions just rounding the rocky point with a clumsy skiff, or raft, made of a dry cedar log, halved and the two parts fastened together, with the ends sharpened. They brought me an invitation from the gentlemanly occupant of the cab-in at the dam—for at this time only one man was there—to come down and remain with him for the night, which I very willingly accepted, feeling that in my present condition, a comfortable bunk would be preferable to the turf at our camp. Taking a little turn over the reservoir in search of a duck that they had been told was hovering about it—and which we found, but did not succeed in killing—my companions landed me at the cabin, and then returned to camp. At dusk Mr. C. returned again, to remain with me, bringing my rifle, and being determined, he said, to capture the duck in the morning.

I turned out the next morning, feeling considerably improved, but not sufficiently so to risk starting on our journey, and C., answering for our other two companions, kindly consented to abide my time; and, after breakfast, proposed to look out for the duck that we had seen the evening previous, volunteering to row me to a rocky point, where I might lie in wait, while he started the game. Getting on board the raft he soon set me down on one of the little rocky mounds that rise out of the water near the upper end of the reservoir; and very soon, to my agreeable surprise, he drove the duck towards me; when, fortunately, I made a lucky shot and killed it. Returning to the dam we took dinner with our host, and thanking him for his kind attentions, returned to camp. Dressing our duck, we perched it upon a willow stick over our fire and watching the process of its roasting with watery mouths—little dreaming we had caught something that might be called a wolf in sheep's clothing, and but for its feathers gathered around it when done—with tender solicitude. A single bite at a side bone was sufficient for me, the rank, fishy odor that ascended my nostrils caused me to hurl it away in disgust. P. followed suit—Judge and C. forced down a couple of mouthfuls, when all agreed in the propriety of consigning it to the dogs, and even they, after a snuff or two, turned away from it with an air of offended dignity, and we exclaimed with the poet—deviating slightly in the application :

Nature never made but one such duck, And broke the die (or certainly ought so to have done,) in getting this one up.

On the following morning, I rolled out from my blankets, feeling much better, when preparations were made for an immediate start, and as the sun peeped over the eastern ridge, we were again, en route. A little distance from our camp, we struck into the old Emigrant road of 1852, bearing due East, and immediately commenced the ascent of the first ridge. Four miles of constant rise, brought us to what are known as Bill's Meadows. The air now began to be cool and bracing, and I fancied that I could feel additional improvements at each succeeding mile. From the Meadows, our trail took a Northeasterly direction, along a high ridge of gradual, but easy ascent, for some five or six miles, when we rose an abrupt and rugged point, where a view presented itself of the wildest grandeur, causing us to halt for a while to satisfy our gaze. The trail here lay upon the very verge of a giddy precipice, facing the Northwest, at the base of which, lay heavy banks of snow; and below this, was a succession of little basins of water fed by the slow melting of the snow-drifts; their margins carpeted with beautiful green, presenting a truly romantic picture. Below, at the left, was the deep gorge through which runs the south fork of the Stanislaus, and still lower down, at a distance of some two miles, yet apparently almost at our very feet, was visible a portion of the great upper reservoir of the Tuolumne County Water Co.,—nine miles above the one at Strawberry Flat,—while beyond, to the west, rose a ridge, composed of one solid mass of bleached granite, without a single tree or shrub to relieve it, of its barren and dreary aspect; while to the right, a little farther on, and looking to the north, rose in bold relief, those novel peaks of volcanic formation, called the "Tooth-picks."

Our trail from this, lay upon an entirely granite formation, and threaded among the rocks, leading us to all points of the compass, the marks of the passage of the Emigrant wagons, were still plainly visible, and now, at every few rods, pieces of their wrecks were yet to be seen. At 4 o'clock, we descended abruptly into a valley of considerable extent, but, for which we know no name. Here was excellent grass and several little miniature lakes; and, as the margin of one of which attracted our special attention, we concluded to pitch our camp.

It was a thing of rare beauty—a basin scooped out of the solid granite, which here presented a horizontal face of one or two acres, and at the elevation of several feet above the surrounding valley, without inlet or outlet, and with a depth of some three feet, its water cool and clear as crystal. On the east side, was a little plat of grass, and here we picketed our horses, while for ourselves, we selected a cosy little nook just a few rods to the south, where we built a cheerful fire and spread our blankets with a breastwork of rock on either side.

The next morning found us early a-stir and all feeling much better than any previous day. For my own part, I was mending fast, being now able to consume my ration of pork and bread, to the entire satisfaction of the party.

Leaving this valley we rose a low granite ridge, and in a quarter of an hour descended into another of greater extent, but presenting, for the most part, a barren appearance, and through which our trail wound circuitously for some three miles, when we found ourselves on the ridge which lies immediately on the west side of the middle fork of the Tuolumne, and near its source. We now bore directly north, our road being somewhat rugged, yet not very difficult, and at 2 o'clock descended into what is known as Relief Valley. This valley takes its very appropriate name from the fact that it was here that relief was brought to the emigrants in their almost starving condition, from the generous-hearted citizens of Sonora and Columbia—among whom was my present companion, Judge C. The passage of this emigrant train, which forced its way through this almost impassable section of the Sierra Nevadas in 1852, was one of peculiar hardship and suffering—excelled in this respect, perhaps, only by the ill-fated one of '46, that starved on the Truckee. They followed the ill-judged advice of a few persons from Tuolumne county, who went out and met them at the sink of the Humboldt, and at the junction of the old emigrant road with Carson river, thirty-five miles west of the Desert, a large train with a vast amount of stock struck off to the south, following up Walker's river, and crossed the mountains at the source of its western branch. Much of their road, after getting into the mountains, they were compelled to make, hauling their wagons up some of the steeps by means of ropes, while their stock died at a fearful rate. At one place, a few miles to the east of the Summit, they were forced to drain down some three or four feet of a small lake to enable them to ford it on one side—it being utterly impossible to go around it; and such was the nature of their trials for near one hundred miles, occupying so much time that their provisions gave out, when they sent an express through to Columbia and Sonora for relief, and a pack-train was immediately fitted out, which, as we have shown, reached them in this valley, the recollection of which, I doubt not, is, and ever will remain fresh in the minds of those who were of the unfortunate party. The bleached bones of many, many animals are still to be seen scattered over it, as, in fact, they are on either side of the trail for a distance of more than a hundred and fifty miles, and now, in many places where all signs of the trail were obliterated, we took our course by the whitened bones alone. The valley is shut in by high barren mountains, and at the base of the ridge that bounds it on the northeast, courses in a direction bearing northwest the middle or main fork of the Stanislaus. The valley slopes gently to the north and east, and about midway of it our trail "run blind," there being a mirey strip running nearly across the entire flat. Here we came to a "standstill," but not until we were well in the mire, not daring to take our animals across until we had found the trail beyond, being, as yet, entirely at a loss at what part of the valley we would make our egress.

I dismounted and stood upon an elevated sod, while my horse was half leg deep in the mud. P., with one of the pack animals, was in a like position, while Judge reversed the position with the amiable mule, for he stood in the mire nearly to the tops of his boots, while mula "humped" herself and gathered all four feet on a little grass sod and stood high and dry. C. forced his way across, a distance of some two hundred yards, to search for the trail, and directly came to a halt and commenced searching among some low bushes. Soon Judge became impatient and halloed, asking if he had found the trail.

"Never saw huckleberries so thick in my life," was the response.

"Well, but have you found the trail ?" "Be blow'd if ever I saw them plentier in the States."

"D—n the huckleberries," responded Judge; and letting go the rein to the mule, struck out to search for the trail himself, and very soon apprised us that it was found, when we again pushed on, not stopping to gather the berries, though they were plenty and of excellent flavor.

Our road now, contrary to our expectations, bore southeast, and across the river, when we commenced a sudden ascent, difficult and almost dangerous. In about an hour we struck the extreme eastern branch of the main river, and following it up for a half hour we again pitched our camp for the night, in a grove of cedar near a little bar, which afforded just sufficient grass for our animals for the night. We were now in a truly wild spot, and the mountains on each side of us presented a curious picture, from the fact of their being of such entire opposite formations, and at the same time in such proximity. To our right, and rising abruptly from the branch, the mountain was one unbroken mass of bare granite, its depressions still containing masses of snow, to which Judge and C. climbed and could almost have thrown a snowball into our camp-fire. To the left the ridge was of volcanic formation, and at a distance of three hundred yards from the stream, presented a perpendicular face to the height of twelve hundred feet from the river bed.

This night we suffered somewhat from cold, for we had attained a great altitude, and a chilly wind sucked down the gorge, but the next morning all of us were feeling exceedingly well, notwithstanding. We were now six miles from the Summit, and making an early start, wishing to pass as far beyond it as possible this day, we began to be sensible that our blankets were insufficient for the climate we were entering.

The trail now, for the next mile, became at each step more rough and difficult, and, in some places, almost dangerous. Then we descended again to the stream, and from thence on to the Summit the road was of gradual and easy ascent. As we crossed the stream we passed into a grove of poplar and cedar, when "Miss Kit," one of our pack animals—a frivolous little mustang—took upon herself the responsibility of a stampede and scattered the various articles that composed her pack pretty considerably. She struck out up the flat like a flying arrow to the distance of a hundred and fifty yards, when she suddenly wheeled and took a bee line for my honest old horse, with the evident intention of upsetting his pack, viz: myself. Anticipating her design, I drove the spurs into my horse and took cover behind a large cedar just in time to retain my equilibrium, and directly a sudden sheer brought her up "all standing" against a low-spreading poplar, when C. caught her bridle-rein and administered a few lusty kicks, which had the salutary effect of making her "behave herself " for the balance of the day. "Mula " during this time, contrary to our expectations, carried herself very decorously, for, instead of joining in the "lark," made quickly for a clump of willows on the bank of the creek, with one ear cocked forward and the other back, showing that she was looking at least two ways for Sunday, and backed up into them, evidently to keep out of harm's way, presenting a comical though very sensible appearance.

We now began to feel the cold very sensibly as we neared the Summit—the wind blowing from the southeast was raw and cutting, causing me to button closely my "roundabout" and bring into requisition my buck-skin gloves. It grew colder and colder, and, as we rose to the Summit, my teeth chattered and limbs quaked, and, as a last resort, I donned a heavy overcoat that C. had tied upon my saddle, and even then shook like one in an "ager fit." My companions being on foot, suffered less, yet their heavy coats were anything but burdensome now. Heavy banks of snow lay on either side of our trail, though exposed to the sun at least eight hours in the day.

The scene that presented itself as we stood upon the dividing ridge was wild and picturesque, yet dreary and cheerless—we could not well fancy one more so. The sky was partly overcast with low, scudding clouds and the sun looked pale and cold. The low points that rose on either hand were barren and dreary, and those at the south and east were more generally covered with snow. A little below us, looking southeast, and across which lay our trail, was a flat, or valley, of considerable extent, in the centre of which was a little lake of a few acres; which, however, only added to the dreariness of the scene, for the cutting blast swept across it, driving it into little angry waves, and as we threaded our way in gloomy silence along its margin, we realized to the fullest extent our previous anticipations in regard to finding a cooler climate. The raw wind cut and chapped the tender skin of our faces, so suddenly boosted up from a more congenial atmosphere, while the water from our eyes almost frosted on our cheeks, causing us to hold in tender regard all warm places, though perhaps 'twould be better to make one exception. A few dwarfish cedars only six or eight feet high, constituted all the timber or shrubbery within our view. Nothing of any description appeared to claim residence here but the little chipping squirrel, and he seemed to gain but a meagre subsistence, judging from his puny appearance—not even a raven hovered about to breathe the gloomy silence with his ominous croak—all was dreary and cheerless, and we hastened our steps onward to find a more congenial scene.

An hour's travel carried us across the Summit plain, when we began to descend the eastern slope, and three miles further on, struck the first considerable branch of Walker's river, down which we continued our course, crossing it many times, the road, meanwhile, becoming more and more rugged, while pieces of wagons were to be met with at every few steps.

(Concluded in our next.)

A TRIP TO WALKER'S RIVER AND CARSON VALLEY.

BY * . *. *.

(Concluded.)

At 3 o'clock, P. M., we came to a lake, partially drained by the emigrants, to make it more easily forded, and which, like them, we were compelled to ford. The road from this point to the place of our encampment three miles below, beggars all description. How an emigrant train could ever get over it with their wagons, was, to us, almost a problem. In this short distance we passed the wrecks of about twenty wagons, some of them still in a tolerable state of preservation, while the bones of cattle were thickly strewn on either side; a sad memorial of the hardship of the passage. In many places, had our animals made a misstep, they would have been hurled into a yawning gulf below. I was compelled to ride from my utter inability to walk, excepting down some of the roughest descents, and then I clung to my horse with suspended breath as he clambered up the rocky steeps.

Just before sunset we descended to the river again, which was here a great deal larger than where we last crossed it, three miles above, showing that some considerable branch from the east had formed a junction with it, as we were still on the west side. On a little grassy flat, we pitched our camp, tired and exhausted, each entertaining a vague hope that we might not be obliged to retraverse the road we had just passed.

We were now twelve miles from the Summit and in a somewhat milder climate, yet our cheerful fire imparted a pleasing sensation to our still shivering bodies.

Anxious to get out of this inhospitable region, we made an early start on the following morning. In the first half mile we crossed the river three times; then, for a mile, our trail was as rugged and difficult as it was the evening previous, when we descended suddenly into a large and beautiful valley, and through which wound the river, now quiet and noiseless, and we felt assured, from the appearance of the country to the north and east, that we were now out of the rugged hills, and that our road henceforward would be comparatively easy. Here we met the U. S. Surveying party of Von Schmidt, on its way to the west side of the mountains, having closed its labors for the season. This party had been running the eastern boundary line of the State, having been out since February. The party numbered some ten men and as many animals. Von Schmidt himself was not with them, he having returned by one of the southern routes.

We detained the party a few moments in making inquiries respecting the country beyond and the trail to Carson Valley, but of this latter they could tell us nothing. Their last camp, from whence they started the day before, was in the vicinity of Mono Lake and distant some thirty-five miles, and on or near the extreme eastern branch of Walker's river, and we hastily came to the conclusion to follow their trail to that point. We inquired respecting the mining in that region, for just previous to our starting on our journey we had read glowing accounts of successful mining on the east fork of Walker's river, but they informed us that these reports were mere fabrications, for they had known of but one prospecting party having penetrated that section—that they " raised the color," but nothing more, and very soon left. To our inquiries respecting Indians they told as that they had seen none, excepting a small party of Monos that hovered about their last camping place, but that the evening before they saw fires, indicating that there were some around. Bidding them a hasty good morning, with an injunction to report us to our friends in Sonora and Columbia, we passed on across the river and over the low ridge to the east, and in a half hour we descended into the valley where the surveying party had camped the night previous—the smoke still curling up from their camp fire.

This little valley, or basin, was one of "the few truly beautiful spots in this wild region, containing perhaps thirty or forty acres, and at the northern extremity a little miniature lake, the water cool and clear as crystal, and floating upon its surface was a little flock of ducks, which gave life to the picture. On the south and east, and rising abruptly from the little grassy meadow, were high barren peaks, while on the west was a low sandy ridge, over which lay our trail.

One mile further on and gradually descending, we came to another valley, larger but less romantic and beautiful; then the trail bore more to the east, and a little way beyond we rose a sandy ridge, when we overlooked still another little basin and lake quite similar to the one just described, lying a little to the left of the trail, and in the pond a flock of canvass backs, which we at once resolved to attack. Just as we came to this conclusion we descried a smoke curling up from behind a low ridge a little beyond the valley we had just crossed, and directly, a little more to the north, though at a greater distance, another and more suspicious smoke rose suddenly, leaving us no longer in doubt of our proximity to Indians. We felt thankful for so much good luck, for this was the first game of any description since that memorable duck of Strawberry Flat.

We now resumed our journey, and one mile further on we came to another lake of the same beautiful nature, but considerably larger than the last two. A large flock of ducks were occupying this also, but our efforts to get a shot were unavailing. Passing on two or three miles further we descended to a fourth and larger valley, and here we discovered in the trail fresh Indian footprints, made since the passing of the surveying party the evening previous, which fully confirmed our suspicions of their being around us, and we doubted not that even then they were watching our movements from behind some screening rock on the adjoining ridges.

About midway the valley the trail ran blind, and we spent more than an hour in searching for its place of egress, and finally struck off to the northwest, regardless of it, and about two miles further on, struck another large fork of the river coming in from the southeast, and here again found the trail. There was excellent grass on either side of the stream, and this being the first consideration in selecting a camping place, we crossed over and concluded to end this day's journey here.

The country now immediately around us began to indicate the existence of gold, and P. resolved to make here his first prospect, and, accordingly, unbundled his pick and shovel and struck into a little bar a few yards below, and his first pan prospected a color, as did also two or three succeeding ones, but nothing more. This, however, he got in the loose gravel high up from the ledge. What a more thorough prospect might develop we are unable to say. That gold exists in this locality is certain, but we doubt if it does so to any considerable extent.

This night we used more than ordinary caution in our camping arrangements, taking our animals close in beside us and letting our fire go down early, lest it might more readily expose our position to the Indians should they entertain hostile designs towards us, but the morning found us all right, as usual. The night was cold and chilly, the white frost gathering thick on our blankets and water froze in our cups; but, nevertheless, we passed it very comfortably under the lee of the thick willows that lined the bank of the stream.

From this point we took a direction due east; saw a sandy table land a few hundred yards from our camp, and now our trail lay for a mile and a half over a sandy plain, when a slight descent brought us into a lovely little valley running east and west, at the far end of which we observed a curious mist rising, and as we entered the meadow we discovered a beautiful and limpid little streamlet silently coursing through the tall rich grass which lopped over and so nearly concealed it that we were not aware of its presence until my horse was about to stumble into it. Our trail lay along the northern margin of the valley, and as we approached its eastern end, we discovered the origin of the mist or steam. Here was a large and beautiful hot soda spring, from which flowed the stream that ran through the meadow. The spring boils up from the level ground just above a rocky point that makes out into the valley from the low ridge on the north, making a noise like that of a boiling cauldron, and presenting a novel and beautiful appearance. Its temperature was equal to boiling water, and what appeared to us very curious, not more than twenty feet above it was another spring, though very small, the water of which was almost ice cold. The hot spring yields about forty or fifty inches of water, and just below the rocky point it has formed a large body several feet in depth, of what appears to be decayed soda, while here the pure, fresh soda, like a heavy white frost, borders each side of the stream, and more singular than all, only four hundred yards below the spring the stream is literally alive with little fish, which we ascertained to be suckers.

About three hundred yards below the spring the soda mound terminates abruptly, making a little fall, or rapid, over which a small portion of the stream ripples, while the main body of the water sinks a few yards above, and again gushes out at the base of the mound, forming a kind of natural bathing tub, in which we luxuriated—for it was indeed a luxury compared to any other bath. The temperature of the water here was just as high as our bodies could bear, and as we lay with the swift soft current passing over us, our heads a little elevated by making a pillow of a rock, we could gaze upon the heavy banks of snow that lay on the lofty peaks to the west, and set at naught the chilly air that wafted down from them.

The next morning we were off early. About one mile from the spring a high ridge of ragged granite, intermixed with the conglomerate rock, intersected our trail, but through which there is a natural pass, the cliffs rising almost perpendicularly on each side, while the little space between of a few yards in width, across which lay our trail, was smooth and level and carpeted with rich grass, while underneath the cliff to the right was a little grove of a dozen poplars, making it, altogether, a romantic spot, and we named it "The Portal."

Beyond this pass we entered another valley of some three miles in length by a half mile in width, with a gentle inclination to the east, and bound on the north and south by high ridges, their bases well timbered with pine and cedar. Passing this we descended suddenly into another valley larger but less beautiful, stretching away to the south, and through which ran a beautiful stream, one of the tributaries of the middle eastern fork of Walker's river. This valley was some six miles in length, but far less fertile than those through which we had just passed, being for the most part a barren, sandy waste, corresponding with the hills surrounding it.

Following the trail of the surveying party we passed the entire length of this valley, and down the stream for about two miles beyond, when we suddenly emerged into another valley that far excelled in extent and fertility any that we had yet seen, being, as we judged, fifteen or twenty miles in length by five or six in width, and coursing through it to the north runs the middle east fork of Walker's river. The tall rank grass, as I rode through it, reached nearly to my knees, and at a distance, as the wind waved it, it presented the appearance of a vast field of grain. To the east of the valley rose a low, barren ridge, apparently that which separated this from the extreme eastern branch of the river. We called the valley the Big Mono, from the fact of our finding here a small party of Mono Indians.

The trail for the first few miles was dim and difficult to follow, running entirely blind in some places, causing us to pick our way cautiously, but presently it became more broad and beaten, showing the recent footprints of Indians, which induced us to believe that we should come out somewhere, at least, and probably at some large rancheria; but this mattered little to us, since it kept a course agreeable to our notions of the locality of Carson Valley. It lay through a country rough, wild and barren, with not a single valley for a distance of twenty-five miles to relieve it of its desolate appearance, yet, agreeable to our expectations of it as an Indian trail, it was comparatively easy. It crossed one deep gorge or chasm through which bubbled a limpid stream which run to the west and emptied into the river. The ground on either side, to the very brink of the chasm was nearly level, it being here a kind of table land lying between the high ridge to the right and the river low down to the left, and it seemed that the ground had some time been opened here by some terrible convulsion of nature. It was little more than an easy rifle shot across it, and yet it was not less than three hundred feet to the bed of the stream. We had to lead our animals down the zigzag trail with the greatest care, and in ascending the opposite side, I was obliged to pass my rifle to my companions and give all my attention to the guiding and clinging to my horse, now swerving to one side to avoid some sharp jagged rock, then lying forward on the neck of my horse to keep my head from coming in contact with some overhanging trees, for though I was much improved in health, yet it would have been impossible for me to have ascended this steep on foot, and as my kind and faithful horse rose to the plait above he trembled in every limb. Frost this place on for five or six miles our trail was again easy, when the ridge over which it lay terminated abruptly in a rugged granite range which stretched across the country from east to west, and pitching to the north, and here again for a short distance, we found a rough trail. As we turned a sharp point o: rock an extensive valley suddenly burst in view far down below, but apparently within an hour's travel, and though it was now only about 3 o'clock, yet it was; near sunset ere we fairly struck into it and descending rapidly all the while.

Such is the delusion of vision in this region. Distances that seemed only three or four miles generally proved to be twice and even thrice that number.

We designated this the Big Pyutt Valley. It is some fifteen miles in length by four in width. The main chain of the Sierras rises abruptly from the valley on the west, and near the base is sparsely covered with pine and cedar, while on the east rises a low ridge almost entirely without tree or bush, while to the south the mountains rise suddenly to a great height and are a succession of sharp peaks. The western fork of Walker's river, with all its tributaries concentrated, traverses its entire length near the base of the western ridge and passes out to the northeast. The northern portion of the valley in the immediate vicinity of the river is rich alluvial soil, but by far the greater part of it is a sandy desert.

In the afternoon I proposed to C. to take a little pasea down the valley, and, accordingly, we mounted our animals and proceeded down the river about two miles, when we crossed over and came up the opposite side. As we rounded a little knoll we discovered what appeared to be nearly the entire rancheria of Indians in a bend of the river making preparations to catch fish, and we at once rode down to witness the sport, which proved to be a novel scene. Stretching nearly across the stream was a rocky bar, over which a very little of the water rippled, while the main body of it made a sudden bend around, keeping close to the opposite bank. Just above the bar was a deep eddy, and above this the stream was broad, shallow and rapid, and skirted of each side with a thick growth of low withy willow. Here of this willow the Indians made a drag about two feet it diameter and in length sufficient to reach across the stream. On the bar they had built a slight wall of the small rock it the form of a half circle, at the lower side of which was a willow fish-trap, the water being only a few inches or a foot deer inside the circle. When all was ready they swung the drag out across the stream and let it sweep down to the eddy when they all gathered in above it and keeping it near the bottom swept ii through to the shallow bar, bringing the two ends to join the wall, when they had all the fish "corraled" within the circle, then pressing their knees upon the drag to keep it firmly to the bottom, they commenced the exciting sport of pulling out the fish, which as a matter of course endeavored to find a place of egress at the upper side, The suckers, which constituted a greater portion of the fish, were easily taken in this way; but the trout, more wily, flipped lightly over the drag and away up stream again. The scene they presented as they knelt over the drag, men and squaws, old and young mixed up indiscriminately, and carried the fish to their mouths as they caught them to bite their heads, frequently holding them in their teeth for some minutes, the poor suckers twisting themselves spasmodically in their death agonies, was truly ludicrous and amusing. A few of the fish entered the trap, and at the last, one big follow seemed to have got an idea of the danger that awaited him on either hand, and flipped about in the centre of the pool, foiling for a long time all their efforts to catch him, they in the meantime getting highly excited, but finally a squaw pounced upon him and held him up in triumph.

These Indians were of the Pyutt tribe, and this range of country was evidently their summer hunting ground. They were very friendly, but a little shy, and the information that we desired respecting the locality of Carson Valley they would not or could not give us.

The next morning we made an early start. We had discovered the emigrant trail on the west side of the river, and crossed over immediately at our camp. It was rather a cool, frosty morning, and none of us relished the idea of wading the stream; so we spliced two of our trail ropes, and attaching one end to the neck of the little mustang, C. rode her over, then P. hauled her back, by which means he too got over with dry feet; but Judge becoming a little impatient at the time which this course occupied, pulled off his boots, and rolling up his pants, started across on his own hook, with his boots slung over his shoulder and the shovel for a staff, presenting a very apt illustration of Pilgrim's Progress.

We soon came to where the valley narrowed up and the river made out to the east, our trail now lying along its bank, occasionally bearing out over the little rolling knolls to the right. An hour's travel brought us to where the river made into a wild gorge, the hills rising abruptly on either side, and here we halted for a few minutes to water our animals and rest our own weary limbs. We felt the importance of getting through this pass before nightfall, knowing that our safety for that night depended upon our camping in an advantageous position, and we very soon pushed on again. The trail entered the gorge, and in the next mile and a half crossed the river four times; and here along the banks of the stream was growing in considerable numbers the tree known as the Balm of Gilead—a fact that we consider worthy of mention.

The valley that we were now entering was after the style of the last, being, for the most part, a sandy waste, and skirted on the east by a range of barren hills.

The river, after making into it, turns suddenly and runs north about four or five miles, and then takes a course directly east and passes out through the ridge. The trail, after leaving our camp, for a mile was broad and well defined, and then made into a grassy bottom, where all traces of it were obliterated. We searched a while for it and then halted for a consultation. To the north we observed a low pass in the mountain, and we judged the trail must pass out there, and we accordingly crossed the river and struck out for it.

Keeping down the river for about a mile and a half we struck a broad Indian trail bearing off to the northeast, and at once resolved to pursue it. An hour's travel brought us on to the ridge, when we entered the gap into which it made, and then descended rapidly down a rocky gorge, and in a half hour more emerged into another extensive valley, which we called the Pyutt Desert, and through which coursed Walker's river, with all its tributaries concentrated.

Being now all anxious to return to our respective homes, and feeling also the necessity of "hurrying up" on account of the shabby condition of our purses, we determined, as the sun was yet near two hours high, to prosecute our journey a little further still, and accordingly started on again, accompanied by one of the guides, who now took it on foot, leaving his pony with his companion. We proceeded up the river a short distance and crossed over to the north side and very soon struck into the emigrant road, that great highway between the Mississippi and the broad Pacific. We passed on about five miles and camped just at sunset on the bend of the river, and in close proximity to a small party of emigrants.

We started the next morning at an early hour and at noon arrived at the trading post, a little bush concern, the proprietor's stock of trading material consisting of a very few dry goods and a good deal of whisky. Here we got some butter to go with our bread, making us what we then termed an excellent dinner, which having dispatched, we then proceeded to dress up our Indian guide.

This night we reached Gold Cañon, crossed the river and camped on the opposite side in order to find grass for our animals. At this place we found about twenty American miners and some forty or fifty Chinese, and from the man who kept the little trading post here we learned that the diggings prospected well, and that a company of men were about conducting water in by a ditch about four or five miles long. From where we first struck the road to this place it had kept along the bank of the river, which was skirted by thrifty cottonwoods; but from here on to Eagle Valley, it lay across what is termed the Nine Mile Desert, when it again struck the river and then again bore off across a rolling country and came into Carson Valley at Silver Creek, leaving Eagle Valley to the northwest.

We had been told that the Mormons were in encampment at Eagle Valley just preparatory to their exodus, and C. and myself rode around to look at them, while Judge and P. took the direct road to Carson Valley. We saw probably a hundred wagons drawn up in a half circle, and it an enclosed field, containing many hundred acres, were several hundred head of mules and horses, while the saints themselves were loitering idly about, evidently ready to move at a day's notice! Having satisfied our curiosity we put our horses into a smart gallop across the rolling sandy plain to the south, in order to come up with our companions, for we had traveled out of our direct course some four or five miles, and in a half hour came into Carson Valley at Silver Creek, and again joining our companions pushed on to Genoa, better known, however, as the Mormon Station, where we arrived a little before night, and adding a little to our stock of provisions—or rather to our stock of flour, for a few pounds of that article constituted all we had—we moved on two miles further, and camped near a farm-house.

Genoa is a little village containing, in all, about twenty-five buildings, among which there is one store, one hotel, a billiard saloon and blacksmith shop, and it presented, at this time, a very lively appearance, from the fact probably of the great number of emigrants that were recruiting in the valley. Its location is pleasant and romantic withal, for it stands upon a little slope at the very base of the mountains, which rise abruptly from the valley to a great elevation, the northern sides of their bold sharp peaks still glistening with snow.

It commands a view of almost the entire valley, which is here some fifteen miles broad, and is shut in on the east by a lower range of mountains and the prospect is really beautiful, for the serpentine course of Carson river can be traced by the willows that border its either bank, while thousands of cattle may be seen scattered over its entire surface. Altogether, it is a pleasant place.

We next came to Carson Cañon, entered it and camped on a little flat about a mile from its mouth, in company with five emigrants, with whom we had traveled most of the day. This cañon, through which Carson river leaps and foams, is a wild rocky gorge, six miles in length, and opens into Hope Valley, when the road forks—that to the right leading to Placerville, and the left to Murphy's, by the Big Tree Grove. The next day we passed through the cañon, and taking the Big Tree road, accompanied by several emigrants, we camped that night one mile to the west of the Summit. The road thus far from the cañon far exceeded in excellence all that we had previously anticipated of it, presenting a strange contrast with that over which we passed in our outward journey, and which, we will venture to assert, will hold true also in regard to any other road over the Sierra Nevadas, and we predict that when its superior excellence is more generally known, almost the entire overland emigration to our State will pass over this road, notwithstanding the powerful influence that is constantly kept at work in Carson Valley by the people of the northern districts to turn the emigration that way. We amused ourselves somewhat while passing through the valley in testing the truthfulness of this northern influence, for our companion C. had twice passed over both the Placerville and Big Tree roads, and mixed up as we were with the emigrants, and presenting an exterior, from our long journey, essentially the same, to our inquiries we received the same recommendations of the northern routes, and the same derogatory opinions of the Big Tree road that was dealt out to the luckless emigrant.

The next morning we rose from our blankets at an earlier hour than usual, from the fact of our suffering somewhat with cold. As we gathered around our cheerful fire it occurred to us that this was the Sabbath, and as the sun shot in upon us his genial rays through the tall junipers that grew on either hand, we felt, standing as we were almost on the very summit of the "snowy mountains," with the broad view of the receding hills, even to the valley of the San Joaquin, before us, a thrill of devotion and a higher conception of Him who teacheth us wisdom in the simplest of His works, and speaketh to us in the thunder of the elements.

Passing on over a road equally as easy as that from the Cañon to the Summit, we camped at night within three miles of the Big Tree Grove. The next morning, having resolved to take breakfast at the Big Tree, we started unusually early, and before the inmates of the Big Tree House were astir we reined our horses up before it; the thought of the excellent table that was sure to be spread before us having doubtless accelerated our steps. Ordering our meal, we occupied the intervening time in scrubbing our grim and sunburnt faces and clearing the dust from our swollen eyes.

Our breakfast over—and it took no little time to get over it, either, considering its excellence together with the length and breadth of our stomachs—we took a hasty glance at the sights—their world-wide celebrity leaving it unnecessary for us to enter into the description in regard to them. For my own part I climbed, by means of a ladder, on to the section of the tree lying near the house, rolled a game of tenpins on one of the two alleys on the log, and danced a single-handed schottische to music of my own making on the stump; then, jumping on my horse, galloped out into the grove and rode my horse, sitting nearly erect in my saddle, through a section of some thirty feet of one of the old fallen trees, and returning to the house we again resumed our journey, and at 1 o'clock entered Murphy's, where, to my companions, Judge and C., the journey was ended. Taking a social dinner at Sperry's excellent hotel, we separated, P. and ourself to return to our respective homes at Sonora and Columbia, where our friends met us with some doubts as to our identity, so disguised were we under our sunburnt skins and tattered habiliments; and on comparing dates we found that we had been absent twenty-seven days, and had traveled in that time four hundred and fifty miles.