higher
than a man's head. It seemed to be a great hunting ground, for ducks,
geese and swans flew in armies--a beautiful sight in the sunset. These
quite excited the _Mary Ann's_ passengers, until suddenly somebody
noted, distant in the east, ahead, a long broken line of bluish white.

"Mountains!"

"Look at the mountains, boys!"

"No! Those are clouds."

"No, siree! Mountains, with snow on 'em!"

"Hooray for the Sierras, boys! There's where the gold lies."

"See them?" bade Mr. Grigsby, to Charley and his father. "That's the
main range of the Sierra Nevada--the Snowy Range, as the Spanish goes.
It divides California from the Great Desert. Over it Carson led
Fremont and us other fellows, in winter, through ten and twenty feet of
snow, to the headwaters of the American River and down the American
River to Sutter's Fort and the Sacramento. How far away is that range,
do you think?"

"Near a hundred miles, I should judge," calculated Mr. Adams.

Various passengers were guessing twenty, fifty, one hundred and two
hundred miles--making all kinds of wild assertions. But Charley's
father had struck pretty accurately, for he had seen mountains before,
in Mexico.

"Just about," approved Mr. Grigsby. "The nearest perhaps seventy-five.
But Sacramento's more than sixty miles yet, by the river, and the high
Sierras are one hundred miles up the American from there."

As evening fell, the _Mary Ann_ was entering a wide channel through the
marshes where the San Joaquin River from the south and the Sacramento,
further on the east, emptied into Suisun Bay. The mouth of the San
Joaquin, said several people, was narrow and shallow, and boats
ascending for Stockton and the southern mines frequently went aground
if the tide was out; but the Sacramento was wide and deep. A mist or
fog began to veil the shores and water, and passengers prepared to go
to bed. The Adams party decided to sleep rolled in their blankets on
deck--which suited Charley exactly. He had grown fond of this open-air
sleeping, and planks did not seem hard any more.

The breeze died, and in the dusk the anchor rattled out, holding the
schooner short, near the mouth of the Sacramento. All night the wild
fowl screamed--and all night the mosquitoes hummed. Charley stuck his
head under his blanket and slept fairly well.

The sun rose red, and so did many of the passengers, for the mosquitoes
had been fierce indeed. But everybody was good-natured;