but I believe also that this industry will not succeed except where it is
carried on by farmers and their families in a small way.

[Illustration: MOUNT HOOD, OREGON.]

Boat life on Clear Lake is as delightful an experience as a traveler or
lounger can get anywhere. The lake is placid; there is usually breeze
enough to sail about; and you need not fear storms or rainy weather in the
dry season. If it should fall calm, and you do not wish to be delayed, you
can always hire an Indian to row the boat, and there is sufficient to
see on the lake to pleasantly detain a tourist several days, besides fine
fishing and hunting in the season, and lovely views all the time.

Going to the Sulphur Banks on a calm morning, I hired an Indian from a
rancheria upon Mr. Alter's farm to row for us, and my Indian proved to be
a prize. His name was Napoleon, and he was a philosopher. Like his greater
namesake, he had had two wives. Of the first one he reported that "Jim
catchee him," by which I was to understand that he had tired of her,
and had sold her to "Jim;" and he had now taken number two, a moderately
pretty Digger girl, of whom he seemed to be uncommonly fond. As he rowed
he began to speak of his former life, when he had served a white farmer.

"Him die now," said Napoleon; adding, in a musing tone, "he very good man,
plenty money; give Injun money all time. Him very good white man, that
man; plenty money all a time."

Napoleon dwelt upon the wealth of his favorite white man so persistently
that presently it occurred to me to inquire a little further.

"Suppose a white man had no money," said I, "what sort of a man would you