The remnants are now being gathered up and used as fuel for the hotel and the steamboats.
Here and there are charming little nurseries of tiny and growing yellow pines and white fir.

How sweet, fresh and beautiful they look,--the Christmas trees of the fairies.

And how glad they make the heart of the real lover of his country, to whom "conservation" is not a fad, but an imperative necessity for the future--an obligation felt towards the generations yet to come.
Of entirely different associations, and arousing a less agreeable chain of memories, are the ruined log-cabins of the wood-cutter's and logger's days.

Several of these are passed.
As we re-enter the trail, Watson's Peak, 8500 feet high, with its basaltic crown, looms before us.

At our feet is a big bed of wild sunflowers, their flaring yellow and gold richly coloring the more somber slopes.