On a bright morning in early June, Charlie Dorner drove up to the Pages' door with a large camping wagon, to which two strong, stout mules were harnessed. The wagon was then laden with things brought from the house in barrels, boxes, baskets, and bundles. One not familiar with the capacity of California mules would have thought it impossible for two animals to haul the tremendous load on the long climb, which was to end sixty miles in the mountains, three thousand feet above the level of the sea.

Charlie Holden, in a suit of corduroy, with high boots and leggings, and a huge sombrero of Mexican make on his curly red head, excited the admiration of Walter, who had never seen him before. The mules started off without balking after one crack of Charlie's whip. The speed with which they started was not great, but Mr. Page, who stood with the children watching the departure, said they would be likely to keep the same pace until their destination was reached on the afternoon of the following day.

"I'd like awfully well to go along," said Walter. "I wish I had thought of it before. Would you have let me go, papa?"

"No; I think it is better that we should all keep together," said Mr. Page. "I am sure mother would not have considered it for a moment."

"I think it is nearly time to start, don't you, father?" inquired Nellie, consulting a diminutive silver watch which her mother had given her on her tenth birthday. "Why, it's almost eight o'clock, and the train goes at nine."

Mr. Page laughed. "The cab will not be here before half-past," he said; "and even then we shall have more than ample time to reach the train."

Nellie sighed. "I think I'll go in and see if I can do anything for mamma," she said. "This does seem such a dreadfully long morning."

"You were up at half-past five," said Mr. Page. "That is why it seems so long. But we shall be off pretty soon, and then you will find time flying. At least I hope so, for we have quite a journey before us."

When they were seated at last in the train in which they were to make the first part of the trip, with the mother well wrapped in her traveling cloak, the children amused themselves by looking out of the car windows at the groves of lemons, oranges, and nuts extending on both sides of the railroad. Thus an hour passed quickly, and the station where they were to leave the train was reached.

"The mountains are beginning already," said Walter, as they stood on the platform awaiting the arrival of the stage. It was indeed a wild-looking spot. Sheer from the road high hills rose ruggedly, clothed here and there with mesquite bushes and wild fern, now beginning to wither through lack of rain.

"Yes, the mountains are beginning, as you say," remarked Mr. Page. "We shall have ample opportunity to become acquainted with them to-day."

As he spoke a buggy, rather dilapidated in appearance, the horse driven by a Mexican, came in sight. Mr. Page and his wife had arranged to drive in this, thinking it would not be so fatiguing as riding in the stage.

"Good-morning, Juan," said Mr. Page.

"Good-morning, SeÑor," the man replied. "Not very pretty, this, says SeÑor Smith, but comfortable, yes."

"Well, we care more for comfort than beauty just here and now," rejoined Mr. Page. "Mother," he continued, turning to his wife, "are you ready to drive with me for the eight hours or so?"

"Oh, not so long, SeÑor," said the man. "In six you will be well at Santa Isabel."

"We do not go so far to-night, I think," said Mr. Page. "However, that will depend on circumstances."

Mrs. Page was ready. "Shall we start at once, Ralph?" she inquired. "Or shall we wait and see the others off first?"

"We ought to go ahead of them," said the husband; "otherwise we shall have the dust of the road in our eyes all the way. Those stage horses make clouds of dust."

"Well, then, we had better go ahead. Let us wait, though, till the stage arrives. I want to feel that they are coming just behind us," she said.

"Here it is now!" shouted Walter.

"My patience!" exclaimed Aunt Mary. "What a ramshackle affair it is—nothing but a dilapidated covered wagon."

The driver, a thin-faced, dark-skinned young man with a strong nasal accent, showed a set of brilliant teeth as he rejoined pleasantly:

"Mebbe it looks ramshackle, miss; but you'll find it all right as a carrier. There's lots of folks come up and down oncet or twicet a week just for the pleasure of ridin' in this here stage."

With these words he threw the reins over the backs of the horses and, stepping upon the platform, prepared to put in the freight and baggage before seating the passengers. Sack after sack, box after box, package after package was deposited in the immense "boot" at the back of the vehicle; then the space under and between the seats was filled to its utmost capacity.

"See here," said Mr. Page, who had been watching the transfer with some concern, "where are you going to put your passengers? Or, rather, where are they going to put their feet? Do you intend to have them sit Turk fashion on the seats?"

The driver showed his brilliant teeth once more as he answered, good-humoredly: "Plenty of room for passengers, mister. I understand you and the lady are goin' in the buggy. There won't be no one in the stage, 'ceptin' the other lady and the little boy and gal and myself. You ought to see 'em sometimes, settin' on each other's laps."

"Oh, there's room enough in one way," said Mr. Page; "but they will have no place to rest their feet. Why do you crowd the stage with baggage and freight? Why don't you have an extra wagon?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed the driver, though not at all disrespectfully. "That would be a cost—to freighters.

"But," he continued, quite seriously, "this is a larger load of freight and baggage than usual. There's going to be a party up at Julian to-night, and there's a good many extras.

"If you'll step in now, ladies," he went on, turning politely to Aunt Mary and Nellie, "you can have your choice of seats. The lady can set in the back with the hull seat to herself, and she won't have to sit Turk fashion, neither. The little gal can do the same, and when you put a robe at your back—plenty of 'em here—you'll be like you was reclinin' on a couch. Otherwise, I don't deny that if you sit up straight you'll have your knees at your chin, for there won't be no other place to put 'em, with the boxes and bags on the floor. The little feller can set with me in front."

Walter sprang into the place allotted him.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Our legs are not going to be cramped. You've got all the baggage under the other seats behind there."

"That's the way it's got to be," said the driver gravely. "Got to have my legs free to steer the ship. Holdin' them mules ain't always a joke."

"Oh, are they dangerous?" queried Aunt Mary in alarm, in the act of gathering her skirts about her to enter the vehicle. Nellie was already seated sidewise on her perch.

"Not a bit dangerous, ma'am," rejoined the driver. "Never been an accident on this here line. But there could be, and there might be without keerful drivers—we have 'em on this route——"

"And couldn't you, don't you think, dust off the seats?" asked Aunt Mary, still hesitating, her skirts in her hands.

The boy here burst into a fit of uncontrollable mirth. "It's plain to be seen this here's your first trip to the mountains, ma'am. Why, what would be the use? Before we get to Witch Creek we'll be fairly eatin' dust."

With a solemn shake of the head, but making no further remarks, Aunt Mary now took her place. Giving her and Nellie each a heavy woolen blanket to serve as cushions for their backs, the driver also prepared to envelop them in linen robes, to preserve them as much as possible from the dust they were to "eat" before nightfall.

"Oh, I can't have that thing around me," said Nellie, tossing it aside. "I want to be able to move about. I'm not afraid of the dust."

Mrs. Page, who stood beside her husband watching the proceedings, was about to remonstrate, but the husband said:

"Let her alone, Martha. The dust will not hurt her. The child is right."

The driver nodded his head in approbation and prepared to take his own seat. "Here comes the mail," he said, as a short, squat man approached, carrying a sack on his shoulder. "We'll be off in a jiffy now."

"There you are, Dingley!" the man called out as he flung the mail pouch at Walter's feet.

"Come, mother," said Mr. Page, helping his wife into the buggy; "we must get a start, or we'll be in for the dust."

"That's so," rejoined Dingley, "that's so. I'll give ye five minutes' start to forge ahead."

Presently the brisk little buggy horse was trotting ahead, and as it turned the first bend of the road the stage driver touched his mules. Off they started.

Despite the dust which covered them from head to foot, even penetrating the luncheon basket (which they opened about noon by the side of a tiny, clear spring half hidden amid a grove of cottonwood trees), the party enjoyed the ride very much. By the time they reached Witch Creek, where they intended passing the night if Mrs. Page felt much fatigued, she thought herself fully able to push on to Santa Isabel. From there they would have to make an early start for the hot springs next morning.

Three miles and a half further on their journey ended for the day. They had enjoyed every inch of it, yet were delighted to find themselves, at the close of the day, in the long, white, one-story hotel, set invitingly amid a grove of trees larger than any they had seen in California. After an appetizing supper they retired to rest. Everybody slept well, and seven o'clock found them ready for the road once more.

To the surprise of the children, who thought they were to make the remainder of their journey in the company of their friend Dingley, they learned that such was not the case. He had continued on his route up to Julian. The way of our travelers lay in another direction. It was a delight to step into the spring wagon awaiting them, to find themselves speeding along the edge of the foot-hills, through the broad valley, until, almost before they had become accustomed to their surroundings, the driver, pointing to a speck in the distance, apparently at the very base of a rugged mountain, announced: "There are the hot springs."

"How close to the mountain they are," said Walter.

"Not so close as they seem," was the reply. "They are seven miles distant, but the atmosphere is so clear that they appear much nearer."

A sudden turn in the road now hid the village from view. As they wound on and on it would reappear and disappear, always under some new aspect of wild picturesqueness and beauty.

"You see that highest peak over there, just above the village?" said the driver, pointing with his whip. "Well, that is the 'Eagle.' The two other mountains nearest are called the 'Rabbit' and the 'Squaw.'"

"What lies behind that small mountain chain at whose foot the village seems to nestle?" inquired Aunt Mary.

"The desert," replied the driver. "Those hills are all that separate these lands from the dreariest wastes you ever saw."

Soon they came in sight of small, cultivated patches of land, whose rich, black soil gave evidence of its fertility. Adobe houses, with brush additions, could be seen everywhere. The sound of falling water pleasantly greeted their ears.

"Is there a waterfall here?" asked Mrs. Page.

"No, ma'am," said the driver. "At least, not a natural waterfall. That sound is made by the waste water from the bathhouses flowing into the irrigation ditch, which is used by all these people in turn to irrigate their lands."

Some one shouted "Hello!" and in a moment Charlie Dorner was seen approaching. "Turn in this way, if you please," he said. "I've found a splendid camping place—not too sunny, not too shady, not too close to anybody, yet very near the baths."

Mrs. Page remained in the wagon, but the others were soon following Charlie down a short incline leading to a miniature grove of cottonwoods. A pair of pepper trees stood guard at the entrance. The main tent—there were three—was arranged as a sitting-room. Here Mrs. Page and Aunt Mary and Nellie were to sleep. During the day their bunks were fastened to the sides of the tent and hidden by curtains. A large rug covered the boarded floor. Board floors are somewhat of a luxury among the Cupa folk, especially the campers.

A table covered by a dark red cloth stood in the middle. Comfortable camp chairs were scattered all about. In one of the other tents Mr. Page and Walter were to sleep, in another Charlie would take up his quarters.

An abandoned brush-house in the rear, about fifteen feet square, had been converted into a kitchen and dining-room, divided by an archway made of pepper boughs. When Mrs. Page arrived she was shown to the tent sitting-room. She pronounced it perfect.

The children, eager to explore the neighborhood, scarcely took time to unpack their belongings before they asked to be allowed to go out for a walk. Permission being given, their father said he would go along. "Oh, yes, do come, papa," said Nellie. "You can show us everything."

"We are now on the outskirts of Cupa," he said merrily as, after descending the declivity which led to their camping place, they stood at the head of a street, or road, with houses straggling on either side to the number of forty or fifty. In the distance could be seen flourishing vineyards and green patches of land.

Here and there a man was lazily ploughing. To the left arose a great cloud of steam ascending slowly into the air, where it was soon lost in the clear blue.

"There are the springs," said Mr. Page. "Shall we go down?"

"Yes, yes, let us go!" cried both children. As they strolled along the dusty street Walter observed that he saw only white people.

"Where are the Indians?" he inquired anxiously. "Have they gone so far away from their homes that we can't see them at all?"

"Oh, no," replied the father. "On our return, if we take a short cut to the right, we shall probably see a good many of them living in those brush-houses."

And it so proved. After they had gone down to the springs, surveyed the boiling pools bursting from the solid granite and taken a drink from one of them, they returned by the back road, and found that every brush-house they passed was inhabited by Indians, in various stages of comfort or discomfort. These houses generally stood from fifty to a hundred feet in the rear of the adobe dwelling, rented for the season at a good price to the visitors in search of health or recreation.

The people manifested no curiosity at the appearance of the strangers; even the Indian children were stolid and indifferent. Later the Pages were to learn that the reserve could be broken when they came to look upon the strangers as friends. Making a dÉtour, the trio advanced toward the church, which stood on a slight knoll overlooking the village.

Everything around it was bleak and lean, the plaster falling from the walls both outside and inside. They tried to enter, but the door was locked. Through the windows they could see the little altar adorned with bright tissue-paper flowers. There appeared to be no one in the vicinity, and Walter, in a spirit of mischief, picked up a stick from the ground and touched the bell which hung in front of the door on two heavy crossbeams, gnarled and worm-eaten.

"Walter, you should not have done that," said the father, as a single, sharp, clear note resounded through the air.

"It is what they all do," said a boyish voice back of him. "It is a beautiful sound, don't you think?"

"Where did you come from, my boy?" asked Mr. Page as the young stranger advanced. He was about Walter's age, clad in blue overalls and flannel shirt. The battered felt hat which served him as head covering was held in his hand.

"I live there," he replied, pointing to a ruined adobe house at some distance behind the church. "I live there with Mauricio. He is my uncle. He is the priest."

"The priest!" exclaimed Mr. Page. "And living in such a place! Are you not an Indian boy?" he continued, looking at the swarthy skin, black eyes and raven hair. "Surely you are an Indian, and there are no Indian priests, in this country, at least."

"He is not a real priest, my uncle," replied the boy. "But that is what they call him—the Protestants, I mean. I told you that way just for fun."

He was smiling broadly, showing his white teeth, and his eyes twinkled merrily.

"How did you know we were Catholics?" inquired Mr. Page rather gravely, not very well pleased at this facetiousness.

"I saw you kneel in front of the church, I saw you make the sign of the cross; and I knew then that you did not come to make fun, as so many do."

"But why do you make fun and tell us your uncle is a priest when he is not one? Where is he now?"

"He is away at Palomas—at the sheep-shearing," said the boy. "I will tell it to you what I mean. My uncle takes care for the church—the Father comes not often here any more, and every Sunday my uncle rings the bell, or sometimes I do, and the people come, and he says the prayers aloud. And that is why the people who do not know about Catholics call him the priest. We let them do; we don't care. They don't know much—some of them."

"You speak English very well," said Walter.

"And why not?" answered the boy. "I have been to school six years at Deming, at the Mission. Maybe I go back in the fall, I don't know."

"What is your name?" inquired Mr. Page.

"I am called Francisco Perez," was the reply. "I will fetch water for you, or wood, or do anything that I can do, and I will not charge you much. Oh, I can do many things, for I have been to the Mission to school."

"Are there many boys here?" asked Walter.

"What kind of boys?" questioned Francisco. "White boys, or Indian?"

"Oh, any kind."

"Just now there are no white boys but you. Maybe some will come. And not many Indians, either. Many are gone to Mesa Grande and around there, picking berries and cherries, and then there will be the grape picking."

"Will you play with us sometimes and show us places?" continued Walter.

Francisco laughed. "I do not play much," he said, "and there are not places to show. You see how it is," with a swing of his hand over the valley. "But I will do what I can."

"We are camping down there," said Mr. Page, pointing to the three white tents in the midst of the cottonwood grove.

"You have the best place. In a week you could not have got there, for others are coming soon and would have taken it."

"Well, come down, Francisco, and we'll see what we can do," said Mr. Page. "You look like a good boy, and Walter will want a companion. Good-by for the present."

"Adios," said Francisco, retracing his steps to his ruined dwelling and, the children noticed, not once looking back, though they followed him with their eyes until he disappeared within the doorless opening to his home. When they got back to camp Charlie was waiting with a dinner of fried rabbit, potatoes, fresh tomatoes, and melons purchased from the Indians that morning. As they sat in the brush dining-room, within sound of the pleasant waterfall, around the well-spread table, all were unanimous in declaring that the viands could not have been surpassed.