ear seemed the saddest of
all. In different portions of Los Angeles and San Diego counties, from
one half to three fourths of them died of sheer starvation. Not less
than 18,000 colonies perished in these two counties alone, while in the
adjacent counties the death-rate was hardly less.

[Illustration: WILD BUCKWHEAT.--A BEE RANCH IN THE WILDERNESS.]

Even the colonies nearest to the mountains suffered this year, for the
smaller vegetation on the foot-hills was affected by the drought almost
as severely as that of the valleys and plains, and even the hardy,
deep-rooted chaparral, the surest dependence of the bees, bloomed
sparingly, while much of it was beyond reach. Every swarm could have
been saved, however, by promptly supplying them with food when their own
stores began to fail, and before they became enfeebled and discouraged;
or by cutting roads back into the mountains, and taking them into the
heart of the flowery chaparral. The Santa Lucia, San Rafael, San
Gabriel, San Jacinto, and San Bernardino ranges are almost untouched as
yet save by the wild bees. Some idea of their resources, and of the
advantages and disadvantages they offer to bee-keepers, may be formed
from an excursion that I made into the San Gabriel Range about the
beginning of August of "the dry year." This range, containing most of
the characteristic features of the other ranges just mentioned,
overlooks the Los Angeles vineyards and orange groves from the north,
and is more rigidly inaccessible in the ordinary meaning of the word
than any other that I ever attempted to penetrate. The slopes are
exceptionally steep and insecure to the foot, and they are covered with
thorny bushes from five to ten feet high. With the exception of little
spots not visible in general views, the entire surface is covered with
them, massed in close hedge growth, sweeping gracefully down into every
gorge and hollow, and swelling over every ridge and summit in shaggy,
ungovernable exuberance, offering more honey to the acre for half the
year than the most crowded clover-field. But when beheld from the open
San Gabriel Valley, beaten with dry sunshine, all that was seen of the
range seemed to wear a forbidding aspect. From base to summit all seemed
gray, barren, silent, its glorious chaparral appearing like dry moss
creeping over its dull, wrinkled ridges and hollows.

Setting out from Pasadena, I reached the foot of the range about
sundown; and being weary and heated w