tionally, and supposing that they would have to pay for the same, they concluded that it was best to "vamos the ranch," and left accordingly. They added that, when the rainy season set in, and sleeping outdoors became unpleasant, they would return to jail, provided the county would agree to charge them nothing for repairs, and see that the place was made water-tight and comfortable. Their liberal offer was not accepted, and when last heard from they were still in the hills, rejoicing in poverty and virtuous liberty.
The stages from Santa Clara come over this mountain road daily, at break-neck speed,—especially on the down grade,—and the drivers make it a point to scare the uninitiated tourists half out of their lives, by taking apparently unnecessary risks at the most dangerous points. At the summit or near it, on the Santa Cruz or ocean side of the mountain, there is a long, narrow ridge, or "hog-back," along which the stage road runs. The view from this is magnificent, and the descent, where the road winds in and out the deep canons, turning at sharp angles, the stage clinging to the side of the precipice like a squirrel to the side of a tree, almost enough to take one's breath away; sometimes it is quite enough. Once, not many years ago, a particularly ambitious driver, coming down this descending grade at railroad speed, "missed stays" as he essayed to turn an unusually sharp angle, and stage, team, and passengers went over. I don't know how many hundred feet it is to the bottom of that precipice, but I do know that the funeral was one of the
