p-ground when we were on the way up the mountains
in the spring. This ridge has the finest sugar-pine groves and finest
manzanita and ceanothus thickets I have yet found on all this wonderful
summer journey.

_September 18._ Made a long descent on the south side of the divide to
Brown's Flat, the grand forests now left above us, though the sugar pine
still flourishes fairly well, and with the yellow pine, libocedrus, and
Douglas spruce, makes forests that would be considered most wonderful in
any other part of the world.

The Indians here, with great concern, pointed to an old garden patch on
the flat and told us to keep away from it. Perhaps some of their tribe
are buried here.

_September 19._ Camped this evening at Smith's Mill, on the first broad
mountain bench or plateau reached in ascending the range, where pines
grow large enough for good lumber. Here wheat, apples, peaches, and
grapes grow, and we were treated to wine and apples. The wine I didn't
like, but Mr. Delaney and the Indian driver and the shepherd seemed to
think the stuff divine. Compared to sparkling Sierra water fresh from
the heavens, it seemed a dull, muddy, stupid drink. But the apples, best
of fruits, how delicious they were--fit for gods or men.

On the way down from Brown's Flat we stopped at Bower Cave, and I spent
an hour in it--one of the most novel and interesting of all Nature's
underground mansions. Plenty of sunlight pours into it through the
leaves of the four maple trees growing in its mouth, illuminating its
clear, calm pool and marble chambers,--a charming place, ravishingly
beautiful, but the accessible parts of the walls sadly disfigured with
names of vandals.

_September 20._ The weather still golden and calm, but hot. We are now
in the foot-hills, and all the conifers are left behind, except the gray
Sabine pine. Camped at the Dutch Boy's Ranch, where there are extensive
barley fields now showing nothing save dusty stubble.

_September 21._ A terribly hot, dusty, sunburned day, and as nothing was
to be gained by loitering where the flock could find nothing to eat save
thorny twigs and chaparral, we made a long drive, and before sundown
reached the home ranch on the yellow San Joaquin plain.

_September 22._ The sheep were let out of the corral one by one, this
morning, and counted, and strange to say, after all their adventurous
wanderings in bewildering rocks and brush and streams, scattered by
bears, poisoned by azalea