Their road led always upward, with a gradual, easy grade; and by noon they
had left the cultivated section of the lower valley for the higher,
untilled lands. The dark, glossy-green of the orange and the lighter
shining tints of the lemon groves, with the rich, satiny-gray tones of the
olive-trees, were replaced now by the softer grays, greens, yellows, and
browns of the chaparral. The air was no longer heavy with the perfume of
roses and orange-blossoms, but came to their nostrils laden with the
pungent odors of yerba santa and greasewood and sage. Looking back, they
could see the valley--marked off by its roads into many squares of green,
and dotted here and there by small towns and cities--stretching away
toward the western ocean until it was lost in a gray-blue haze out of
which the distant San Gabriels, beyond Cajon Pass, lifted into the clear
sky above, like the shore-line of dreamland rising out of a dream sea.
Before them, the San Bernardinos drew ever nearer and more
intimate--silently inviting them; patiently, with a world old patience,
bidding them come; in the majestic humbleness of their lofty spirit,
offering themselves and the wealth of their teaching.
So they came, in the late afternoon, to that spot where the road for the
first time crosses the alder and cottonwood bordered stream that, before
it reaches the valley, is drawn from its natural course by the irrigation
flumes and pipes.
Pages:
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201