United States

  Return of Colonel Fremont to Monterey 
  Call for volunteers 
  Volunteer our services 
  Leave New Helvetia 
  Swimming the Sacramento 
  First fall of rain 

  Pleasant weather 
  Meet Indian volunteers 
  Tule boats 
  Engagement between a party of Americans and Californians 
  Death of Capt. Burroughs and Capt. Foster 
  Capture of Thomas O. Larkin 

  Their appearance and costume 
  List of the officers 
  Commence our march to Los Angeles 
  Appearance of the country in the vicinity of San Juan 
  Slaughter of beeves 
  Astonishing consumption of beef by the men 

  Mission of San Luis Obispo 
  Gardens 
  Various fruits 
  Farm 
  Cactus tuna 
  Calinche 
  Pumpkins 

  Picturesque situation 
  Fertility of the country 
  Climate 
  Population 
  Society 
  Leave Santa Barbara 
  Rincon 

Jensen was a small village with two stores and a post-office. A few scattered houses completed the village proper, but prosperous-looking ranches spread out on the lowland for two or three miles in all directions on the west side of the river. Avenues of poplar trees, fruit trees, and fields of alfalfa gave these ranches a different appearance from any others we had passed.

A westward-bound train was bearing me across the Mojave Desert one day in May. In a few swiftly passing hours we had made a six-thousand foot descent from the plateau with its fir and aspen-covered mountain, its cedar and pinon-clothed foot-hills, and its extensive forests of yellow pine. Crimson and yellow-flowered cactus, sage and chaparral, succeeded the pines. The cool mountains had given way to burned-out, umber-coloured hills, rock-ribbed arroyos, and seemingly endless desert; and the sun was growing hotter every minute.

Ouray, Utah, consisted of a large store to supply the wants of the Indians and ranchers, a small hotel, and a few dwellings. The agency proper was located some distance up the Uinta River, which stream emptied into the Green, just below Ouray.

Supper was taken at the hotel, after which we visited a young man in charge of the store, looking over his curios and listening to tales of his life here among these Indians. They were peaceable enough now, but in years gone by were a danger to be reckoned with. We slept in our own beds close to our boats by the river.

Before sunrise the following morning, I had completed my few camp duties, finished my breakfast and dropped my boat into the whirlpool above the bridge. My two friends watched the manoeuvre as I pulled clear of the logs and the piers which caused the water to make such alarming sounds the night before; then they gave me a final word of caution, and the information that the Parker Bridge was sixty miles away and that Yuma was two hundred and fifty miles down the stream. They thought that I should reach Yuma in a week. It seemed but a few minutes until the bridge was a mile up the stream.

The appearance of Desolation Canyon had changed entirely in the lower end. Instead of a straight canyon without a break, we were surrounded by mountain peaks nearly 2500 feet high, with many side canyon between them and with little level parks at the end of the canyons beside the river. The tops were pine-covered; cedars clung to the rocky slopes. Some of these peaks were not unlike the formations of the Grand Canyon, as seen from the inner plateau, and the red colouring was once more found in the rocks.