mineral. Azaleas made a big snow-bed just above the well.

The shoulder of the hill waved white with Mediterranean
heath. In the crannies of the ledge and about the spurs of

the tall pine, a red flowering stone-plant hung in clusters.
Even the low, thorny chaparral was thick with pea-like

blossom. Close at the foot of our path nutmegs prospered,
delightful to the sight and smell. At sunrise, and again

late at night, the scent of the sweet bay trees filled the
canyon, and the down-blowing night wind must have borne it

hundreds of feet into the outer air.
All this vegetation, to be sure, was stunted. The madrona

was here no bigger than the manzanita; the bay was but a
stripling shrub; the very pines, with four or five exceptions

in all our upper canyon, were not so tall as myself, or but a
little taller, and the most of them came lower than my waist.

For a prosperous forest tree, we must look below, where the
glen was crowded with green spires. But for flowers and

ravishing perfume, we had none to envy: our heap of road-
metal was thick with bloom, like a hawthorn in the front of

June; our red, baking angle in the mountain, a laboratory of
poignant scents. It was an endless wonder to my mind, as I

dreamed about the platform, following the progress of the
shadows, where the madrona with its leaves, the azalea and

calcanthus with their blossoms, could find moisture to
support such thick, wet, waxy growths, or the bay tree

collect the ingredients of its perfume. But there they all
grew together, healthy, happy, and happy-making, as though

rooted in a fathom of black soil.
Nor was it only vegetable life that prospered. We had,

indeed, few birds, and none that had much of a voice or
anything worthy to be called a song. My morning comrade had

a thin chirp, unmusical and monotonous, but friendly and
pleasant to hear. He had but one rival: a fellow with an

ostentatious cry of near an octave descending, not one note
of which properly followed another. This is the only bird I

ever knew with a wrong ear; but there was something
enthralling about his performance. You listened and

listened, thinking each time he must surely get it right; but
no, it was always wrong, and always wrong the same way. Yet

he seemed proud of his song, delivered it with execution and
a manner of his own, and was charming to his mate. A very

incorrect, incessant human whistler had thus a chance of
knowing how his own music pleased the world. Two great birds

- eagles, we thought - dwelt at the top of the canyon, among
the crags that were printed on the sky. Now and again, but

very rarely, they wheeled high over our heads in silence, or
with a distant, dying scream; and then, with a fresh impulse,

winged fleetly forward, dipped over a hilltop, and were gone.
They seemed solemn and ancient things, sailing the blue air:

perhaps co-oeval with the mountain where they haunted,
perhaps emigrants from Rome, where the glad legions may have

shouted to behold them on the morn of battle.
But if birds were rare, the place abounded with rattlesnakes

- the rattlesnake's nest, it might have been named. Wherever
we brushed among the bushes, our passage woke their angry

buzz. One dwelt habitually in the wood-pile, and sometimes,
when we came for firewood, thrust up his small head between

two logs, and hissed at the intrusion. The rattle has a
legendary credit; it is said to be awe-inspiring, and, once

heard, to stamp itself for ever in the memory. But the sound
is not at all alarming; the hum of many insects, and the buzz

of the wasp convince the ear of danger quite as readily. As
a matter of fact, we lived for weeks in Silverado, coming and

going, with rattles sprung on every side, and it never
occurred to us to be afraid. I used to take sun-baths and do

calisthenics in a certain pleasant nook among azalea and
calcanthus, the rattles whizzing on every side like spinning-

wheels, and the combined hiss or buzz rising louder and
angrier at any sudden movement; but I was never in the least

impressed, nor ever attacked. It was only towards the end of
our stay, that a man down at Calistoga, who was expatiating

on the terrifying nature of the sound, gave me at last a very
good imitation; and it burst on me at once that we dwelt in

the very metropolis of deadly snakes, and that the rattle was
simply the commonest noise in Silverado. Immediately on our

return, we attacked the Hansons on the subject. They had
formerly assured us that our canyon was favoured, like

Ireland, with an entire immunity from poisonous reptiles;
but, with the perfect inconsequence of the natural man, they

were no sooner found out than they went off at score in the
contrary direction, and we were told that in no part of the

world did rattlesnakes attain to such a monstrous bigness as
among the warm, flower-dotted rocks of Silverado. This is a

contribution rather to the natural history of the Hansons,
than to that of snakes.

One person, however, better served by his instinct, had known
the rattle from the first; and that was Chuchu, the dog. No

rational creature has ever led an existence more poisoned by
terror than that dog's at Silverado. Every whiz of the

rattle made him bound. His eyes rolled; he trembled; he
would be often wet with sweat. One of our great mysteries

was his terror of the mountain. A little away above our
nook, the azaleas and almost all the vegetation ceased.

Dwarf pines not big enough to be Christmas trees, grew thinly
among loose stone and gravel scaurs. Here and there a big

boulder sat quiescent on a knoll, having paused there till
the next rain in his long slide down the mountain. There was

here no ambuscade for the snakes, you could see clearly where
you trod; and yet the higher I went, the more abject and

appealing became Chuchu's terror. He was an excellent master
of that composite language in which dogs communicate with

men, and he would assure me, on his honour, that there was
some peril on the mountain; appeal to me, by all that I held

holy, to turn back; and at length, finding all was in vain,
and that I still persisted, ignorantly foolhardy, he would

suddenly whip round and make a bee-line down the slope for
Silverado, the gravelshowering after him. What was he

afraid of? There were admittedly brown bears and California
lions on the mountain; and a grizzly visited Rufe's poultry

yard not long before, to the unspeakable alarm of Caliban,
who dashed out to chastise the intruder, and found himself,

by moonlight, face to face with such a tartar. Something at
least there must have been: some hairy, dangerous brute

lodged permanently among the rocks a little to the north-west
of Silverado, spending his summer thereabout, with wife and

family.
And there was, or there had been, another animal. Once,

under the broad daylight, on that open stony hillside, where
the baby pines were growing, scarcely tall enough to be a

badge for a MacGregor's bonnet, I came suddenly upon his
innocent body, lying mummified by the dry air and sun: a

pigmy kangaroo. I am ingloriously ignorant of these
subjects; had never heard of such a beast; thought myself

face to face with some incomparable sport of nature; and
began to cherish hopes of immortality in science. Rarely

have I been conscious of a stranger thrill than when I raised
that singular creature from the stones, dry as a board, his

innocent heart long quiet, and all warm with sunshine. His
long hind legs were stiff, his tiny forepaws clutched upon

his breast, as if to leap; his poor life cut short upon that
mountain by some unknown accident. But the kangaroo rat, it

proved, was no such unknown animal; and my discovery was
nothing.