sandy desert toward the desolate Chimahuevis mountains; and I knew that pursuit was useless, for long ere I could have reached the rancheria of the accursed tribe, their long sharp knives had slashed her silky throat, and her plump, round form had furnished food for the savages, to whom I also then owed a debt of hatred and revenge. I paid it well in after days; but let us turn back towards Mount Diablo.
From the landing at Oakland to Clayton, at the foot of the mountain, is thirty miles, up hill and down. We ride at a gallop through the quiet streets of Oakland, the most beautiful and flourishing of the suburban towns around San Francisco Bay; passing elegant residences standing embowered among the great spreading live oaks, which gave the place its name; deep green acacias, which in this climate never shed their feathery leaves; rose trees, loaded down with flowers of every hue, the fragrance of which pervades the dreamy, soft, voluptuous, languid air; fuschias, hanging like banners of living flame from trellis-work, arbor and broad veranda; and, in short, all the flowers which, gathered from every land beneath the sun, have become acclimated here; passing churches, school-houses, and college-buildings, through a long, wide lane, leading between thrifty orchards filled with ripening cherries, apricots, plums, nectarines, peaches, apples, pears, and wide acres covered with richly-bearing strawberry, blackberry and raspberry plants, where the Chinese laborers are at work in their broad bamboo hats and blue blouses, in rows like Louisianian slaves in the "good old
