On our return from the exploration of the “_Silver Mine_,” we carefully concealed our discovery from Vincente and his people, and avoided exciting their curiosity. Our animals were rested, and in an improved condition, for the grass was rich and abundant. Don Vincente was as much delighted with our presents of tobacco and trinkets, which we had carried with us for such occasions, as any of the “_Gentile_” nations would have been. We took our departure from the hospitalities of the Mission Chief without having had any occurrence to divert the mutually friendly feelings that had been fostered in our intercourse. We had designed, on starting from the rancheria of Don Vincente, to leave the direct trail to Mariposa, and explore the lake region of the Tulare valley. Unfortunately for the success of this undertaking, we made our first camp too near the marshy shore of Kern Lake. We had selected the camp ground for the convenience of water and fresh grass for our animals, but as night closed in, the mosquitoes swarmed from the surrounding territory, making such vigorous charges upon us and our animals, that we were forced to retreat from their persistent attacks, and take refuge on the high land away from the vicinity of the Tule or Bullrush marshes. Having no desire to continue the acquaintance of the inhabitants who had thronged to welcome our approach, our ambition for making further exploration was so much weakened, that we silently permitted our mules to take their course towards the direct trail. Col. Henderson declared that the mosquitoes on these lakes were larger, more numerous, and in greater variety, than in the swamps of Louisiana, and Doctor Bigelow said that hitherto he had rather prided himself, as a Michigander, on the _earnest_ character of those of Michigan, but that in future, he should be willing to accept as a standard of all the possibilities of mosquito growth, those that had _reluctantly_ parted with us at Kern Lake. Keeping the rich alluvial low lands on our left, we crossed a strip of alkali plain, through which our animals floundered as if in an ash heap. This Henderson designated as a “_dry bog_.” Deviating still farther to the right to avoid this, an old trail was struck, either Indian or animal, which led us into the main trail usually traveled up and down the valley. At the crossing of one of the numerous mountain streams, we found a good camping place on a beautiful table overlooking this rich territory, where we would be secure from the assaults of _enemies_. After a refreshing bath in the cool waters of the stream, we slept the sleep of the blessed, and mosquitoes once more became to us unknown objects of torture. The next morning we found ourselves refreshed and buoyant.