Alfonso prized
highly a cane, fashioned by the Indian maiden from a fallen Big Tree. The
wood had a pale red tint, and was beautifully marked and polished.
Part of the Indian hunting party went forward with the game, while
Mariposa, Red Cloud, and three Yosemite braves with their ponies, waited
for the handsome pale face to recover partially. Then they rode with
Alfonso among the Big Trees, past Wawona, toiling up long valleys,
stopping now and then to cook simple food. The Indians followed a
familiar trail up dark gulches, along steep grades, through heavy timber,
skirting edges of cliffs and precipitous mountains, the ruggedness
constantly increasing, till suddenly Mariposa conducted Alfonso to a high
point where his soul was filled with enthusiasm. Mariposa, pointing to
the gorge or canyon of extraordinary depth, which was floored with forest
trees and adorned with waterfalls, said, "Here in the Yosemite (grizzly)
Valley is the home of my people. Here we wish to take you until you are
well. Will you go?"
Alfonso, still weak and pale, but trusting the Indian girl, replied
"Yes." The young artist-miner had never seen such stupendous masonry; the
granite walls that surrounded the valley were a succession of peaks and
domes, from three thousand to four thousand feet high, all eloquent in
thought and design.
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