growing sons and
daughters. There was confusion in places, even rude chaos, but in
and through and above it all a cleanness, a sweetness, a purity, a
grandeur, harmony, glory, beauty and majesty--all of which disappear
when destroying man comes upon the scene.

About five miles up, we left the Rubicon and struck up toward Barker
Creek. Here was another of the great, tempting granite basins, full of
clear cool water. We also passed patches of belated scarlet larkspur,
shooting stars, and glaring golden-rod.

Half a mile up we reached Barker Creek, now a bowlder-strewn arroyo
which aroused my covetousness to high degree. How I would love to
build, with my own hands, a cottage, bungalow or house of some kind
with these great bowlders, of varied sizes and colors, shapes and
material.

Just above the junction of Barker Creek and the Rubicon is "Little
Hell Hole," a camping-place almost as famous as its larger namesake,
and noted for the fact that half a mile away is a small canyon full of
mineral springs--sulphur, iron, soda, magnesia, etc. Naturally it is a
"deer-lick," which makes it a Mecca during the open season to hunters.
The springs bubble up out of the bed of the stream, the water of which
is stained with the coloring matter. When the stream runs low so that
one can get to the springs he finds some of them as pleasant to the
taste as those of Rubicon and Glen Alpine.

As we got higher we left the spruces behind, and the junipers, covered
with berries, began to appear. Then we came to open spaces where the
wind began to sing in the tops of the pines.

About a mile up Barker Creek, Watson showed me the course of one of
his trails back to the Tavern. It ascends a formidable ridge and leads
quickly to Idlewyld, but we were bound for Rubicon Springs. The old
trail was inaccessible, but Mr. Colwell of the Springs had lately
marked out a new trail, so we took our chances on finding our way
somehow. Over windfalls, up and down and around rocky promontories,
we came to West Meadow Creek Wash, its rude bowlder-strewn course
striking directly across our path. Here we struck beds of brakes
nestling in the shade of giant trees. On the left side of the creek
where we were, we ran into dense clumps of wild-cherry which prevented
further progress. Scouting found us an outlet on the other side of
Barker Creek. The divide on the left towered up with rugged majesty,
reddish in color, and split into gigantic irregular terraces, t