ck formations, and wished for a
week or more instead of a day.

Next morning we struck into the canyon of the Rubicon River, for Soda
Spring, half a mile away, where salt and soda exude in such
quantities as to whiten the rocks. Here the deer, bear, grouse, quail,
ground-hogs, and other creatures come for salt. Indeed, this is a
natural "salt lick," and there are eight or ten piles of rock, behind
which Indian and white hunters used to watch for the coming of the
game they desired to kill. Twenty years ago one could get game here
practically every day. The Washoes used to descend the western slope
as far as this; the men for deer, the women for acorns, though they
had to be on the alert as the Sierra Indians resented their intrusion.

Right and left as we rode on there were great "islands" of granite,
fifty to one hundred feet high, masses that either had been hurled
from the heights above in some cataclysm, or planed to their present
shape by long-forgotten glaciers. These granite masses alternate with
flower and shrub-bestrewed meadows that once were glacial lakes.
At times we found ourselves in a dense forest where the trees were
ancient monarchs, whose solitudes had never been disturbed by stroke
of ax, or grate of saw. Clumps of dogwood and chaparral of a dozen
kinds confuse the tyro, and he loses all sense of direction. Only the
instinct that makes a real mountain and forest guide could enable
one successfully to navigate these overgrown wilds, for we were now
wandering up a region where trails had been abandoned for years. Here
and there, when we came to the rocky slopes "ducks"[2] in confusing
variety were found but scarce a sign of a trail, and the "blazes"
on the trees were more confusing than if we had been left to our own
devices.

Yellow jackets' nests hung from many branches, and we were now and
then pestered by the flying creatures themselves. Then we had a good
laugh. Our pack-horse, Shoshone, got between two trees. His head could
pass but his pack couldn't, and there he stood struggling to pull
through. He couldn't do it, but stupidly he would not back up.
Talk about horse-sense! A burro would have backed up in a minute,
but most horses would struggle in such a place until they died.

[Footnote 2: _Ducks_ are small piles of stone so placed as to
denote the course of the trail.]

Near here there came into sight a granite ridge between the Rubicon
and Five Lake Creek. This grows higher until it beco