by thick brush, so that no wind came in to chill us.  Everybody was cook and nobody was boss.  Not a cent of money among us, nor any chance to use any if we had possessed it.  We had nice, sweet, fat meat, cooked rare or well done as each one preferred, and no complaints about the waiters.  The conditions were so favorable, compared with the terrible Death Valley and its surroundings that every one remarked about it, and no one felt in the least like finding fault with the little inconveniences we were forced to put up with.  It might cure an inveterate fault-finder to take a course of training in the desert.

The next day we did not wade half as much, and after a few hours of travel we suddenly emerged from the brush into a creek bottom which was much wider, with not a tree to obstruct our way.  The soil was sandy and covered more or less with sage brush, and the stream which had been strong and deep enough to make us very wet now sank entirely out of sight in the sandy bottom.  The hills were thinly timbered on the left side but quite brushy on the right, and we could see the track of cattle in the sand.  No signs of other animals, but some small birds came near, and meadow larks whistled their tune, quite familiar to us, but still sounding slightly different from the song of the same bird in the East.  High in the air could be seen a large sailing hawk or buzzard.

We stopped to rest at noon and noticed that the water ran a little in the creek bed; but, by the time we were ready to start we found none with which to fill our canteens.  No doubt this water was poured into the canon somewhere near the place where we killed the three cattle, and we had got out of it before the flood came down.  It was astonishing to see how the thirsty sand drank up the quite abundant flow.

The next day we came down to the point of hill that nearly crossed the valley, and we crossed the low ridge rather than make a longer trip to get around by way of the valley.  As we reached the summit there appeared before us as beautiful a rural picture as one ever looked upon.  A large green meadow, of a thousand acres, more or less; its southwest side bounded by low mountains, at the base of which oak trees were plenty, but no brush or undergrowth.  It was like a grand old park, such as we read of in English tales.  All over the meadow cattle of all sorts and sizes grazed, the “Ring-streaked and speckled” of old Jacob’s breed being very prominent.  Some lazily cropped the grass; some still more lazily reclined and chewed their cud; while frisky calves exercised their muscles in swift races and then secured their dinner from anxious mothers.  We camped at once and took the loads from all the animals that they might feed in comfort on the sweet grass that lay before them.

We tarried here perhaps two hours, till the cattle stopped eating, and amply enjoyed the scene.  Never again would any one of the party go back over that dreary desert, they said, and everyone wondered why all places could not be as green and beautiful as this one.  I cannot half tell how we felt and acted, nor what we said in our delight over this picture of plenty.  The strong contrasts created strong impressions, and the tongues so long silent in our dry and dreary trouble were loosened to say everything the heart inspired.  Think as much as you can; you cannot think it all.