Some few days before, the Arctic had swept down across Texas; now as if in compensating reflux California became an outpost of the tropics. That air which swept the peaks and ridges had lain for weeks over the warm ocean. It had sucked its rain from the creamy foaming of lazy blue waves, from the spouting of whales, from the splashing of porpoises, sporting in the sea-trough. Its air had smoothed the plumage of gull and gony; it had laved the sides of leaping swordfish, and the backs of sleeping turtles awash in the long swells.

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Over all of central California the tropical air was moving, but most intense was the precipitation in the foothills northeast of Sacramento, the basin of the American River. Five days of rainfall had saturated the earth, and now for every drop that fell another drop must somewhere pass into a stream and move rapidly downward toward the valley. Into the North Fork and the South Fork and the Middle Fork the water poured out from every side-canyon and gulch and gully. The North Fork of the North Fork came surging down. High up, the melting rain fell upon the snow which arched the East Fork and the Rubicon, and a thousand little streams which lay dormant in their snow-tunnels; beneath the insistent rain the snow grew soft and heavy; the arches fell and the water went foaming downward.

The streams poured out from all those creeks and canyons named by the Forty-Niners—in hope and despair and ridicule, now in flat matter-of-factness, now in flamboyant fancy. From Deer Creek and Otter Creek, from Bear Creek and Grizzly Creek, from Jaybird Creek and Redbird Creek. From Alder Creek and Willow Creek, and Lichen Creek, and Brush Creek; from Granite Creek and Slab Creek and Slate Creek. From Indian Creek and Dutch Creek and Irish Creek. From Pilot Creek and Whaler Creek, and Soldier Creek and Sailor Creek. From Iowa Creek and Missouri Creek. From New York Creek and Manhattan Creek, and Knickerbocker Creek and Hoboken Creek. From Dry Creek, no longer dry. From Lady Creek, and Widow Creek, and Secret Creek, which mask (men say) far ruder names. From Devil’s Creek and Humbug Creek and Shirt-tail Creek; from Hangtown Creek and Robbers’ Creek and One-eye Creek. Out of them all and a hundred more the water came foaming.

6

In the late afternoon the Superintendent stood again at the wide entry-way of the Maintenance Station, and looked out. Even here at the crest of the Pass there was only a steady, moderate wind, but the snowfall was thicker than it had yet been. It was more than ever like feather-down spilled from a pillow, and the flakes descended in what seemed an impenetrable mass which the eye strove in vain to pierce. The Superintendent could not see the tamarack which he used as a gauge of snowfall; he could not even see the other side of the road.