“‘Oh, beautiful indeed!’ exclaimed Frank and Harry at the same time.
“‘But, mamma,’ added Frank, ‘are these the sort that are eaten by the Indians?’
“‘Their seeds are also fit to eat, and in times of great distress the Indians and others resort to them for food; but it is not of them I intended to speak. It is of another kind very distinct from either, and yet growing in the same region. It is a small tree, rarely seen of more than thirty or forty feet in height, and with leaves or needles of a much lighter green than the generality of pines. Its cones are not larger than those of the common sort; but the seed or kernel is oily like the American walnut, and quite as agreeable in flavour. They cannot be otherwise than nutritious, since, as I have said, they form the whole subsistence of many people for months in the year. They can be eaten raw; but the Indians usually roast them. When roasted or parched, and then ground in a mill, or broken in a mortar, they make a species of meal, which, though coarse in appearance, can be baked into sweet and wholesome bread. This tree is called by the Mexicans “piñon,” and also by travellers the “nut-pine.” The only botanist who has fairly described it has given it the name of pinus monophyllus. Perhaps as good a name as any, and certainly the most appropriate—I mean for its popular one—would be the “bread-pine.”’
“‘But, mamma, does this tree grow in our valley? We have not seen it.’
“‘Not in the valley, I think; but I have hopes that we may find it on the mountain. The day we came around from Camp Antelope, I thought I saw a strange species of pine growing up in the ravines. It might be this very one; and I am the more inclined to think so, as I have heard that it grows on the Rocky Mountains—within the latitudes of New Mexico—and also on all the sierras that lie between them and the Pacific. I see no reason why we should not find it upon our mountain, which is, no doubt, a sort of outlying peak of the Rocky Mountains themselves.’
“‘Oh! then,’ said Harry, ‘shall we not go up to the mountain, and see about it? An excursion to the mountain would be so very pleasant. Don’t you think so, papa?’
“‘I do, indeed,’ I replied; ‘and as soon as we can make a cart for Pompo, so as to be able to take mamma and the children along with us, we shall go there.’
“This proposal was hailed with delight, as all wished very much to visit the beautiful mountain that rose so majestically above us. It was settled, then, that on the first fine day, as soon as our cart should be constructed, we would set forth, and make a grand pic-nic to the Snow-mountain.”