Far away the rich valley of the San Joaquin sweeps. Rolling hills
lie on either side, golden tinted with the ripening wild oats.
Messengers join the party with auspicious reports.

Down the San Joaquin plains the train winds. Here Senora Peralta
is in merry mood; hundreds of stately elk swing tossing antlers,
dashing away to the willows. Gray deer spring over brook and fallen
tree, led by some giant leader. Pigeons, grouse, doves, and quail
cleave the air with sudden alarm. Gorgeous in his painted plumage,
the wood duck whirrs away over the slow gliding San Joaquin. Swan
and wild geese cover the little islands.

There are morning vocal concerts of a feathered orchestra. They
wake the slumbering bride long before Don Miguel calls his swarthy
retainers to the day's march.

By night, in the valley, the sentinels watch for the yellow California
lions, who delight to prey on the animals of the train. Wild-cats,
lynx, the beaver and raccoon scuttle away surprised by this invasion
of Nature's own game preserves.

It is with some terror that the young wife sees a display of native
horsemanship. Lumbering across the pathway of the train a huge
grizzly bear attracts the dare-devils. Bruin rises on his haunches;
he snorts in disdain. A quickly cast lariat encircles one paw. He
throws himself down. Another lasso catches his leg. As he rolls
and tugs, other fatal loops drop, as skilfully aimed as if he were
only a helpless bullock. Growling, rolling, biting, and tearing,
he cannot break or loosen the rawhide ropes. When he madly tries to
pull in one, the agile horses strain upon the others. He is firmly