Proceeding ten miles over a level plain, we overtook a company of emigrants bound for Nappa valley, and encamped with them for the night on Puta creek, a tributary of the Sacramento.  Five of the seven or eight men belonging to the company enrolled their names as volunteers.  The grass on the western side of the Sacramento is very rank and of an excellent quality.

It commenced raining about two o’clock on the morning of the 31st, and continued to rain and mist all day.  We crossed from Puta to Cache creek, reaching the residence of Mr. Gordon (25 miles) about three o’clock P.M.  Here we enrolled several additional emigrants in our list of volunteers, and then travelled fifteen miles up the creek to a small log-house, occupied temporarily by some of the younger members of the family of Mr. Gordon, who emigrated from Jackson county, Mo., this year, and by Mrs. Grayson.  Here we remained during the night, glad to find a shelter and a fire, for we were drenched to our skins.

On the morning of the 1st of November the sun shone out warm and pleasant.  The birds were singing, chattering, and flitting from tree to tree, through the romantic and picturesque valley where we had slept during the night.  The scenery and its adjuncts were so charming and enticing that I recommenced my travels with reluctance.  No scenery can be more beautiful than that of the small valleys of California.  Ascending the range of elevated mountains which border the Cache creek, we had a most extensive view of the broad plain of the Sacramento, stretching with islands and bells of limber far away to the south as the eye could penetrate.  The gorges and summits of these mountains are timbered with largo pines, firs, and cedars, with a smaller growth of magnolias, manzanitas, hawthorns, etc., etc.  Travelling several miles over a level plateau, we descended into a beautiful valley, richly carpeted with grass and timbered with evergreen oak.  Proceeding across this three or four miles, we rose another range of mountains, and, travelling a league along the summit ridge, we descended through a crevice in a sleep rocky precipice, just sufficient in breadth to admit the passage of our animals.  Our horses were frequently compelled to slide or leap down nearly perpendicular rocks or stairs, until we finally, just after sunset, reached the bottom of the mountain, and found ourselves in another level and most fertile and picturesque valley.

We knew that in this valley, of considerable extent, there was a house known as “Barnett’s,” where we expected to find quarters for the night.  There were numerous trails of cattle, horses, deer, and other wild animals, crossing each other in every direction through the live oak-timber.  We followed on the largest of the cattle trails until it became so blind that we could not see it.  Taking another, we did the same, and the result was the same; another and another with no better success.  We then shouted