d choosing some
to carry with us across country to a far distant home. That many of the
shells had had marketable blisters was shown by little squares cut in
the lining.

Another drive was that across Salinas Valley, through the bright and
prosperous town of Salinas, up the steep San Juan grade, where one may
eat luncheon on a green slope commanding a lovely view, and down into
the little old town of San Juan, where stands the mission of San Juan
Baptista, with its long cloisters still intact. Next to the Mission is
an open square which is said to have been the scene of bull fights in
the old Spanish days.

[Illustration: 1. Spanish Governor's House at San Juan. 2. San Juan
Batista Mission.]

A day was spent in driving over the Salinas road and the Rancho del
Monte road, on through a lovely valley, up over the mountain along a
shelf-like road, and down into Carmel Valley; then along another
mountain road by a stream, and up again to the lush meadows of a private
ranch twelve hundred feet above the sea. We left the car at the foot of
the hill and drove in a farm wagon to the ranch house. We visited the
vineyard on a sunny slope back of the house, so sheltered that grapes
grow by the ton. We climbed into heavy Mexican saddles, ornately
stamped, with high pommel and back, and rode astride sturdy horses over
steep rounding hills through thick grass to view points where we could
look down on Carmel Valley and off to the silvery sea. As we retraced
our journey in the afternoon sunlight, a bobcat came out from the forest
and trotted calmly ahead of us. A beautiful deer ran along the stream,
his ears moving with alarm, his eyes watching us with fear and wonder. A
great snake lay curled in the middle of the road and we ran over him
before we really saw him. He made a feeble attempt to coil, but the
heavy machine finished him. He was only a harmless ring snake, whose
good office it is to kill the gophers that destroy the fruit trees, so
we were sorry we had ended his useful career. He was the first of many
snakes that we killed in California. Sometimes they lay straight across
our road; sometimes they were stretched out in the ruts of the road and
our wheels went over them before we could possibly see them; sometimes
they made frantic efforts, often successful, to escape our machine; we
always gave them a fighting chance.

It seemed that we would never tear ourselves away from the Monterey
Peninsula. We wandered through the