o which belonged the
dwellers within, and woven so tightly as to hold water without
permitting a drop to pass through. In the bottom of one of these baskets
was scattered a little ground meal of the acorn, a staple article of
food with all the Indians of California. The other basket, similar to
the first in shape and size, but of rougher weave, and lined on the
inside with bitumen, was nearly full of water; for though the
finely woven baskets of the Southern California Indians were really
water-tight, they were not generally used for liquids. Any one,
acquainted with the customs of these Indians, would understand the
meaning of the little heap of stones by the fireside without: they were
used in warming the water in the basket, which was done by heating them
in the embers of the fire, then, when hot, throwing them into the water,
in this way bringing it almost to a boil. Afterward, the stones having
been taken out, some meal was thrown in and, in this manner, cooked.
Beyond the baskets, and nearly opposite the entrance, against the wall,
was a heap of fine brush, covered with the tawny skin of an immense
mountain-lion--a giant specimen of his species, and a formidable animal,
truly, for an Indian to encounter with only bow and arrow.

On this bed of brush was the gaunt, emaciated form of a woman lying
stretched out at full length. At first glance, one might have mistaken
her for a mummy, so still and lifeless she lay; her face, too, carried
out the resemblance startlingly, for it was furrowed and seamed with
countless wrinkles, the skin appearing like parchment in its dry,
leathery texture. Only the eyes gave assurance that this was no mummy,
but a living, sentient body--eyes large, full-orbed and black as
midnight, arched by heavy brows that frowned with great purpose, as if
the soul behind and beyond were seeking, powerless, to relieve itself of
some weighty message. These were not the eyes of age, yet they belonged
to a countenance that gave token of having lived through a great many
years; for the woman lying there so deathly still had experienced
all the varied joys and sufferings of near four score years, each one
leaving its indelible mark on the tell-tale face. She was clothed in a
loose dress made from rabbit skins, sewn together coarsely, sleeveless,
and so short as to leave her feet and ankles bare.

To the left of the entrance crouched a young Indian woman. She was an
unusually good-looking specimen of the