The flint points downward, and at its base is a cluster of twenty medicinal springs, famous for their curative powers.
Westward Santa Catalina Island had but recently appeared, and although eighty miles away, it still smoked and rocked, animated by the hidden forces which called it into being.
The blue coast line rises out of the purple mists in the distance like spectral silhouettes. And there are deep cañons in the rugged mountains in the immediate vicinity, carrying ice-cold streams in close proximity to the steam and sulphurous vapors issuing from the boiling springs dotting the narrow pass below.
Yermah did wisely to bring his men south—for the northern mountains were still shaking and spitting black vomit over the valleys at their base.
The heat was too fierce for rain, although the moisture-laden breezes were sucked in from the ocean in perfect hurricanes.
Lying well south, inland, and sheltered by a mountain range, the San Bernardino Valley afforded shelter for distressed man and beast. It was here, and while waiting for seed-time, that the arrow-head was outlined so strangely on the mountain side.
Much that is curious in Indian lore clings to this spot. Like a pillar of fire, the arrow is said to have guided their forefathers to this place, where it finally rested. Evil has been put to flight here more than once.
The Azes’ judges drew the death-circle and square over the breast of the condemned with an arrow, and this is why the arrow-head burial was given Kerœcia and her followers.
The Festival of Humiliation began a period of mourning which was continuous and fervid until this curious monument was completed and dedicated.
While Yermah was away from Tlamco, Orondo served in his stead much to the annoyance of Setos, who was as busy as a mole in the dark, stirring up sedition, and adding to the general unrest and suspicion everywhere manifest.