I noticed a large wheat field near the house, and its
appearance was such as to promise a rich harvest.
The rain fell heavily on the morning of the 3rd, but continuing our
journey we crossed the St. Ynes Mountain, and, passing the mission by
that name, reached the rancho of Mr. Faxon after dark, where we halted
for the night. Around the mission of St. Ynes I noticed, as we passed,
immense quantities of cattle bones thickly strewn in all directions.
Acres of ground were white with these remains of the immense herds
belonging to this mission in the days of its prosperity, slaughtered
for their hides and tallow. We met two or three elegantly dressed
Californians to-day, who accosted us with much civility and apparent
friendliness.
Mr. Faxon is an Englishman by birth, and has resided in California
about thirty years. He is married to a Californian lady, and has a
family of interesting and beautiful children. A large portion of the
land belonging to his rancho is admirably adapted to agriculture, and
he raises crops of corn and vegetables as well as wheat without
irrigation. He informed me that the yield of wheat on his rancho was
fully seventy bushels to the acre.
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