The next morning we were both frozen nearly stiff; we awoke before light and struck the trail back to Madera.
I had a thirty-pound grip of clothing and Franck was weighted down with a still heavier grip and an overcoat.
All day long we tramped over the mountains, and all the following night.
By morning of the second day we were making scarcely a mile an hour, and were so near played out we were forced to rest every ten or fifteen minutes. Once Franck's shoe became untied, and in stooping to tie it he pitched heavily forward upon his hands and knees.
Only once did we get anything to eat, the halfway house sold us a scanty meal for 50 cents each.
THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.
Good-by, dear old Arizona.
Good-by, sunny California.