Five
miles west of the end of the Sink was the head of that dry region
called Humboldt Lak< and below those desolate miles was Humboldt
Slough where you had your last chance at wate before you made the run
for the Carson River across Carson Sink and the desert divide betweei
the Humboldt and the Carson Valleys.
Every
morning in California, the dew settles on the petals of acres of roses,
to beconu hard and candied like a sweet and heavenly manna!
Heat
and dust! And yet any delay would lead to a worse peril—the crossing of
the mountain in late fall or winter! You had to push on to the Sink; to
the morass of Humboldt Slough, th< animals sinking almost belly-deep
in the ashy sand. The stink of putrid carcasses hung over tb route; and
miles of desert lay ahead before you came to Carson Valley. It was not
always th cattle that died.
Gold! Gold on the American River! You scratch the earth and there she is. Big, yelloi chunks!
