e
could see distinctly his every movement, as he approached cautiously
the stream's edge, dropped his short line at the end of a stick over
the bank, and then yanked bodily the fish from beneath. Behind him
stood his pony. We could make out in the clear air the coil of his
raw-hide "rope," the glitter of his silver bit, the metal points on his
saddle skirts, the polish of his six-shooter, the gleam of his fish,
all the details of his costume. Yet he was fully a mile distant.
After a time he picked up his string of fish, mounted, and jogged
loosely away at the cow-pony's little Spanish trot toward the south.
Over a week later, having caught golden trout and climbed Mount
Whitney, we followed him and so came to the great central camp at
Monache Meadows.

Imagine an island-dotted lake of grass four or five miles long by two
or three wide to which slope regular shores of stony soil planted with
trees. Imagine on the very edge of that lake an especially fine grove
perhaps a quarter of a mile in length, beneath whose trees a dozen
different outfits of cowboys are camped for the summer. You must place
a herd of ponies in the foreground, a pine mountain at the back, an
unbroken ridge across ahead, cattle dotted here and there, thousands of
ravens wheeling and croaking and flapping everywhere, a marvelous clear
sun and blue sky. The camps were mostly open, though a few possessed
tents. They differed from the ordinary in that they had racks for
saddles and equipments. Especially well laid out were the cooking
arrangements. A dozen accommodating springs supplied fresh water with
the conveniently regular spacing of faucets.

Towards evening the men jingled in. This summer camp was almost in the
nature of a vacation to them after the hard work of the desert. All
they had to do was to ride about the pleasant hills examining that the
cattle did not stray nor get into trouble. It was fun for them, and
they were in high spirits.

Our immediate neighbors were an old man of seventy-two and his grandson
of twenty-five. At least the old man said he was seventy-two. I
should have guessed fifty. He was as straight as an arrow, wiry, lean,
clear-eyed, and had, without food, ridden twelve hours after some
strayed cattle. On arriving he threw off his saddle, turned his horse
loose, and set about the construction of supper. This consisted of
boiled meat, strong tea, and an incredible number of flapjacks built of
water, baking-p