On the night of October 30th we reached Salt Lake City, the stronghold of the Mormon faith, and one of the handsomest and cleanest cities that the far West can boast of. That morning we took in the tabernacle, the Great Salt Lake and other sights of the town, returning to the Walker House in time for dinner. The ball ground there was a fairly good one, and we started to play our first game in the presence of 2,500 people. In the first half of the fifth inning it started to rain, and how it did rain! The water did not come down in drops, but in bucketfuls. The game, which was called at the end of the fourth inning resulted in a victory for the All-Americans, they winning by a score of 9 to 3. All night long the rain fell, and as it was anything but pleasant under foot, we were content, that is, most of us, to remain within the friendly shelter of the hotels. The grounds next day were still in bad shape, and long before the game was over we were covered with mud from head to heels. The game was a good one so far as the All-Americans were concerned, but a bad one on the part of the Chicago players, the game going against us by a score of 10 to 3. That we could not have had pleasant weather and seen more of Salt Lake City and its environs is a matter of regret with us to this day. The evening of November 1st found us aboard the cars and off for 'Frisco, the Paris of America. Arriving at Ogden at midnight, we found two special sleepers awaiting us, and were soon once more en route. The next day time hung somewhat heavy on our hands and the view from the car window soon became monotonous. Dreary wastes of sage brush greeted us on every hand, walled in by the mountains that, bare of verdure, raised their heads above the horizon some thirty miles away. To the pioneers who crossed those arid wastes in search of the new El Dorado, belongs all honor and praise, but how they ever managed to live and to reach the promised land is indeed a mystery. The morning of November 3d found us away up among the mountains of the Sierra Nevada range, and here the scenery was a magnificent description, the great peaks being clothed almost to their very summits in robes of evergreen. Down toward the valleys clad in their suits of emerald green we rolled, the mountains giving away to hills and the hills to valleys as the day drew on, until we finally reached Sacramento, where we stopped for breakfast. Here we found just such a crowd to greet us as had met the train at Denver, the base-ball enthusiasts, who had been notified of our coming, having turned out in full force. Leaving Sacramento we passed through a most prosperous country dotted with orchards and vineyards as far as the eye could reach until we finally came to a standstill at the little station of Suison, thirty miles from San Francisco.