They exploring, crossed the great Cuyamaca
Range, traversed its broad plateaus, and thro’ the
Silence of its lofty domes and canyons;
Then beyond, where boiling waters gurgling
Flowed thro’ Indian villages. They saw
The waving pines upon the lofty crest
Of Palomar; and wandering, vainly sought
Along its base for passage leading to
Its heights. They often reached an eminence,
And thought they neared the goal, when overhanging
Walls of granite turned them back. At last, by
Persevering, came upon its table-
Lands; and pressing forward found the place he
Long had pictured in his mind--the sheltering
Boughs of giant trees, the gushing fountain,
Level plot of fertile land below, well
Watered by the rivulets that trickled
From the springs. Here he sowed the garden seeds
And grain; and from the chaparral he bro’t
The antlered buck and lesser game. The sweets
The toiling honey bee had stored away,
Drip’d from the boles of sycamore and oak.
They happy lived in Nature’s luxury.
Lest in their quietude he might become
Indifferent or wasteful of the time,
He took up an ancient system which they
Faithfully observed thro’ all their years of
Hermitage--eight hours for labor, eight for
Rest, and eight for study and improvement
Of his mind, and teaching Zola.
He was
The builder of the hidden cabin; for
Zola it was builded, for her boudoir.
With loving hands, he axe and auger plied,
Without compass, square or trestle board,
But with all the tenderness that ever
Mother bird provided for her nestling.
He building, furnished it with draperies--
Bright Indian blankets, rugs and robes of
Fur, arranging all as beautiful as
Tho’ her mother’s spirit hands had guided
His. Perchance they did. If love be spirit,
And spirit love--or soul--then such as hers
Might overleap the balustrades of
Heaven and find its own; or such unselfish
Soul as his might rise and view the palace
Of the skies. He teaching, opened first the
Book of Nature, and strolled with her among
The flowers and botanized. Then to the rocks;
He told her of the slow formations of
The ages. From the books selected in
The days when she was cradled on the sea,
He, in learning, carried her beyond her
Years.
“PEG LEG, THE MINER.”
They marked the changing moons until a
Score had glided by and yet had seen no
Other human face save one--and he, an
Honest miner whom they found in sorry
Plight, with broken limb, where he had fallen
From an overhanging ledge. They succored
Him until, returned to strength, he rose with
One limb twisted hopelessly. They made--as
Best they could--a wooden substitute, and
Strap’d with buckskin bandage, he soon learned to
Use it cleverly. Jokingly, he called
Himself “Peg-leg, the miner.” He told them
Of a mine that out upon the desert
He had found, where three large buttes stood side by
Side. Cedric gave him burros from his herd,
And packs, and sent him on his way. He came
Again with well-filled sacks of pellets round
As shot and black as ebony, which proved
To be pure gold. He left it there, and leaving,
Nevermore returned. Miners to this day
In vain have sought that “Peg-leg Mine,” and those
Three buttes; and some have left their bones to bleach
Upon the desert sand. The miner told
Them of a nearer passage, a hidden
Trail, that led downward to the valley. They
Going, tarried there and Cedric sent the
Indians to the mission for supplies.
Once a cougar sprang across their path with
Blazing eyes and crouching for a spring; when
Cedric sent a bullet thro’ its brain; and
From its den he took a pair of baby
Mountain lions, made orphans by the shot.
Zola, pitying, took them home and one,
Surviving, grew to monstrous size, became
Obedient to her command, and like
A faithful watch dog, followed her. She
Called him Zimbo. Other pets she had--white
Kids of silken fleece, birds and animals,
But Zimbo was the monarch of them all.
As the circling years went ’round and she could
See beyond the golden morning of her
Sunny life the ripening noonday coming
On, she longed to see the world beyond her
Mountain home; but named it not to Cedric.
With her years she grew more fearless, wild and
Venturesome. With Zimbo and her rifle,
She scaled the dizzy heights of rock and crag
Where condors built their nests, and knew the
Devious windings of the wild doe’s trail,
Thro’ manzanita groves and chaparral.
In a seat of granite, nature fashioned,
Like a throne, shaded by a giant oak
Upon a summit looking oceanward,
She would sit in dreamy mood and watch the
Silvery line of surf that fringed the far-off
Fading stretch of blue. Once she saw a sail
Appear, then slowly vanish in the offing;
And in the quiet of an early morn,
She heard the low sweet chime of mission bells.