motored half
a day through that curious, semi-arid country, which, when irrigated,
proves the greatest of all soils in the world for fruit-raising. The
August sun had baked the soil into yellow dust which covered
everything. Arid hillsides without a leaf of green but dotted thickly
with gray sagebrush, eroded valleys, rocks and gullies--all shone a
dusty yellow in the heat. The dust penetrated everything. Wherever water
could be utilized were orchards, little trees planted in geometrical
rows and only waiting the touch of irrigation to make their owners
wealthy beyond dreams.

The lower end of Lake Chelan was surrounded by these bleak hillsides,
desert without the great spaces of the desert. Yet unquestionably, in a
few years from now, these bleak hillsides will be orchard land. Only the
lower part, however, is bleak--only an end, indeed. There is nothing
more beautiful and impressive than the upper part of that strangely deep
and quiet lake lying at the foot of its enormous cliffs.

By devious stages we reached the head of Lake Chelan, and there for four
days the outfitting went on. Horses were being brought in, saddles
fitted; provisions in great cases were arriving. To outfit a party of
our size for two weeks means labor and generous outlay. And we were
going to be comfortable. We were willing to travel hard and sleep hard.
But we meant to have plenty of food. I think we may claim the unique
distinction of being the only people who ever had grapefruit regularly
for breakfast on the top of that portion of the Cascade Range.

While we waited, we learned something about the country. It is volcanic
ash, disintegrated basalt, this great fruit-country to the right of the
range. And three things, apparently, are responsible for its marvelous
fruit-growing properties. First, the soil itself, which needs only water
to prove marvelously fertile; second, the length of the growing-season,
which around Lake Chelan is one hundred and ninety-two days in the year.
And this just south of the Canadian border! There is a third reason,
too: the valleys are sheltered from frost. Even if a frost comes,--and I
believe it is almost unknown,--the high mountains surrounding these
valleys protect the blossoms so that the frost has evaporated before the
sun strikes the trees. There is no such thing known as a killing frost.

But it is irrigation on a virgin and fertile soil that is primarily
responsible. They run the water to the orchards in