Chronicles of Camp Wright, Part III; Chapters I-IV [pp. 259-271]

1587.] Chronicles of Cam~ Wrt6oht. 265
sticks were held in one hand, the short ones among nature's ren)ote and almost unknown
in the other. The winner, of course, was treasures.
the one who made the right guess as to Long shall I rernember that early sumwhich hand held the long and which the mer morning when, just starting upon a
short sticks. scout, and having reached that delightful
Their custom in disposing of their dead spot, I dismounted from old Comanche 1 to
was to burn them whenever circumstances linger a moment and impress upon my mind
permitted; and it was considered a great this charniing picture of California scenery.
misfortune, not only to the dead, but also All around everywhere, the long sweep of
to the living relatives, when burial had to the mighty mountains, looking cool and
be resorted to. many tinted under the moming sun; unroll In no other tribe, perhaps, can the deca- ing itself at my feet like a green carpet thickly
dence of the Indian race be better observed strewn with multi-colored wild flowers, the
than in the E-da-mas. They numbered Ome-haut smiling in the sun; beyond, to
seventy-eight on the reservation in 1874, the south, looming grander than ever in the
thirty-two males and forty-six females. blue distance, the majestic Sanhedn.m; in
They were remarkably well fbrmed, both the east the white Volle Bolles or snow
men and women, and yet there were only peaks, overtopped by their needle4ike king
five children among them, three boys and Mount Wirt; and on my right, seen dimly
two girls. through my glass, the faint line of the
Pacific Ocean.
IV. As I stood inhaling new life with every
breath of the pure mountain air, freighted
Seldom have I seen more beautiful and with the perfume of the dew-tipped wild
romantic scenery than froni the narrow flowers, and listening to the soft, musical
mountain road leading from Round Valley whispers of the sea breeze, like the sighs of
to Summit Valley. Gently and gradually an Italian harp in the pines above my head,
ascending all the time on the sides and top the sweet, low tones of a voice that is gone
of rugged, wooded mountains, the road winds came back to me, mellowing my heart as in
and rewinds upon itself, displaying new beau- days of old, when it was younger and betties at every turn, each more delightful than ter, with the lovely cradle-song of The
the one preceding. Anon the way leads under Princess:
thick green vaults of leaves, formed by the "Sweet and low, sweet and low,
tall trees arching overhead, with a faint Wind of the western sea;
streak of blue sky showing at times through Low, low, breathe and blow,
the green; and again these same trees ap- Wind of the western sea!"
pear and disappear on each and every side, And as the sweet refrain died slowly away
like cathedral columns, the aisles between with the breeze among the pines, there
opening in ever changing vistas, with the cqme to my mind a reverie like a vision.
songs of feathered choristers ringing from The sunlit mountains disappeared, and at
one to the other; until the summit of the my feet, chaotic and shapeless as when it
ridge between the t~o valleys is reached, sprung from the creating hand, lay a world;
and all the beauties that have been appear- and one by one, succeeding one another
ing one by one combine together and form, like dissolving views, came the scenes of an
as the sun rises higher and higher, sending almost forgotten past.
rays of brilliant light into every nook and
corner, one of the most marvelous pictures ~vlil0I~se~s)?emr~nw~abf t%~ readers will an old friend,