The next place was a small house made of willow poles set in the ground and plastered over with mud.

This rejoiced in the name of "Mountain House." This wayside inn looked like a horse thief's glory; only one or two men, a quarter of an elk hanging on a pole, and no accommodations for man or beast.

There was very little water, nothing to sell as well as nothing wanted.

On the summits of the mountains as we passed through we saw, standing like guards, many large buck elks.
It was now fifteen miles to the San Joaquin river, and a level plain lay before us.

When our road turned into the river bottom we found the water too deep to get through safely, so we concluded to go on and try to find some place where we could cross.