amed from the
summit in the setting-sun, and turned, took up my lariat, mounted, and proceeded down the mountain.
Should ever your fortune lead you to cross the Chinese wall that divides the people of Oregon from the people of California, stop at the Mountain House and ask for the old mountain trail. Take the direc tion and stop at the top of what is called the first summit of the Siskiyou mountains, for there you will see to the left hand by the trail a pile of rocks high as your head, put there to mark where a party fell a few days after.
Dismount and contribute a stone to the monu ment from the loose rocks that lie up and down the trail. It is a pretty Indian custom- that the whites sometimes adopt and cherish. I never fail to observe it here, for this spot means a great deal to me.
I uncover my head, take up a stone and lay it on the pile, then turn my face to Mount Shasta and kiss my hand, for the want of some better expression.
