nty,
as in ordinary seasons, then sheep and cattle die in thousands, and so
do these small, winged cattle, unless they are carefully fed, or removed
to other pastures. The year 1877 will long be remembered as
exceptionally rainless and distressing. Scarcely a flower bloomed on the
dry valleys away from the stream-sides, and not a single grain-field
depending upon rain was reaped. The seed only sprouted, came up a little
way, and withered. Horses, cattle, and sheep grew thinner day by day,
nibbling at bushes and weeds, along the shallowing edges of streams,
many of which were dried up altogether, for the first time since the
settlement of the country.

[Illustration: A BEE-RANCH ON A SPUR OF THE SAN GABRIEL RANGE. CARDINAL
FLOWER.]

In the course of a trip I made during the summer of that year through
Monterey, San Luis Obispo, Santa Barbara, Ventura, and Los Angeles
counties, the deplorable effects of the drought were everywhere
visible--leafless fields, dead and dying cattle, dead bees, and
half-dead people with dusty, doleful faces. Even the birds and squirrels
were in distress, though their suffering was less painfully apparent
than that of the poor cattle. These were falling one by one in slow,
sure starvation along the banks of the hot, sluggish streams, while
thousands of buzzards correspondingly fat were sailing above them, or
standing gorged on the ground beneath the trees, waiting with easy faith
for fresh carcasses. The quails, prudently considering the hard times,
abandoned all thought of pairing. They were too poor to marry, and so
continued in flocks all through the year without attempting to rear
young. The ground-squirrels, though an exceptionally industrious and
enterprising race, as every farmer knows, were hard pushed for a living;
not a fresh leaf or seed was to be found save in the trees, whose bossy
masses of dark green foliage presented a striking contrast to the ashen
baldness of the ground beneath them. The squirrels, leaving their
accustomed feeding-grounds, betook themselves to the leafy oaks to gnaw
out the acorn stores of the provident woodpeckers, but the latter kept
up a vigilant watch upon their movements. I noticed four woodpeckers in
league against one squirrel, driving the poor fellow out of an oak that
they claimed. He dodged round the knotty trunk from side to side, as
nimbly as he could in his famished condition, only to find a sharp bill
everywhere. But the fate of the bees that y