enland."

Even twenty years ago the trip to Death Valley was a trying one to the
experienced desert traveller in summer; to the tenderfoot without a
guide it was almost certain death. The best equipment for the trip was a
pair of mules, or else cayuse ponies, and a light buckboard with broad
tires--tires so wide that they would not sink in the loose, wind-blown
rock waste. The equipment might possibly be found in Daggett; more
likely it must be purchased in San Bernardino.

At all events, Daggett was the real starting point, and the first
"trick" in the journey was the crossing of Mohave River. The river was
pretty sure to be deep--not with water but with sand. Whoever saw water
in the channel, or "wash," of the Mohave? Perhaps the oldest settler may
have seen it; at any rate he will so claim, for the oldest settler is
always boastful; indeed, fairy-story telling is his inherent, bounden
right. To make good his assertion he points to the bridge, and certainly
the bridge is there; but as for the river, it may be on hand one
day--perhaps an hour or so--in ten, twenty, or thirty years!

Beyond the river a wide expanse of desert is before us, and then a
beautiful lake comes into view. Real water, is it?--no; just the desert
mirage, but it seems real enough to quench a genuine thirst. But the
illusion is lessened by the surroundings, for we are approaching a dry
sink--an old lake-bed that was filled with brackish water once when a
cloud-burst that occurred in Calico Mountains had its busy day.

Back of us are Calico Mountains, a picturesque clump of buttes, and the
glimpse of them we get from the north explains why they were so named.
And such colors! Their brilliant hues change like kaleidoscopic patterns
with the sun's motion. On our right a trail diverges to Coyote Holes,
made grewsome by one of many tragedies that have occurred in the region.
This time it was a hold-up. A desert waif out of luck and ready cash
waylaid the paymaster of Calico mines and relieved him of the money
intended for the miners. The robber was soon trailed and he quickly
discovered that his only safety lay in hiding. But where could he hide
in that desolate flat?

At Coyote Holes there is a spring and a small marsh. The robber buried
himself in the mud till all but his face was covered and lay there while
the posse searched. But the keen vision of an Indian scout did not fail.
When the robber saw that he was surrounded, he put up a brave fight