taken number two, a moderately
pretty Digger girl, of whom he seemed to be uncommonly fond. As he rowed
he began to speak of his former life, when he had served a white farmer.

"Him die now," said Napoleon; adding, in a musing tone, "he very good man,
plenty money; give Injun money all time. Him very good white man, that
man; plenty money all a time."

Napoleon dwelt upon the wealth of his favorite white man so persistently
that presently it occurred to me to inquire a little further.

"Suppose a white man had no money," said I, "what sort of a man would you
think him?"

My philosopher's countenance took on a fine expression of contempt.
"Suppose white man no got money?" he asked. "Eh! suppose he no got
money--him dam fool!" And Napoleon glared upon us, his passengers, as
though he wondered if either of us would venture to contradict so plain a
proposition.

The sulphur bank is a remarkable deposit of decomposed volcanic rock and
ashes, containing so large a quantity of sulphur that I am told that at
the refining-works, which lie on the bank of the lake, the mass yields
eighty per cent. of pure sulphur. The works were not in operation when I
was there.

Several large hot springs burst out from the bank, and gas and steam
escape with some violence from numerous fissures. The deposit looks very
much like a similar one on the edge of the Kilauea crater, on the island
of Hawaii, but is, I should think, richer in sulphur. Near the sulphur
bank, on the edge of the lake, is a hot borate spring, which is supposed
to yield at times three hundred gallons per minute, and which Professor
Whitney, the State Geologist, declares remarkable for the extraordinary
amount of ammoniacal salts its waters contain--more than any natural
spring water that has ever been analyzed.

There is abundant evidence of volcanic action in all the country about
Clear Lake. A dozen miles from Lakeport, not far from the shore of the
lake, the whole mountain side along which the stage-road runs is covered
for several miles with splinters and fragments of obsidian or volcanic
glass, so that it looks as though millions of bottles had been broken
there in some prodigious revelry; and where the road cuts into the side
of the mountain you see the osidian lying in huge masses and in boulders.
Joining this, and at one point interrupting it, is a tract of volcanic
ashes stratified, and the strata thrown up vertically in some places, as
though after the vol