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of heat； then； very remote； the foot…hills； the brush…hills； the pine
mountains； the upper timber； the tremendous granite peaks； and finally the
barrier of the main crest with its glittering snow。 From the plains to that
crest was over seventy miles。 I should not dare say how far we could see
down the length of the range； nor even how distant was the other wall of
the canon over which we rode。 Certainly it was many miles； and to
reach the latter point consumed three days。
It is useless to multiply instances。 The principle is well enough
established by these。 Whatever impression of your trail you carry away
will come from the little common occurrences of every day。 That is true
of all trails； and equally so； it seems to me； of our Trail of Life sketched
at the beginning of this essay。
But the trail of the mountains means more than wonder； it means hard
work。 Unless you stick to the beaten path； where the freighters have lost
so many mules that they have finally decided to fix things up a bit； you are
due for lots of trouble。 Bad places will come to be a nightmare with you
and a topic of conversation with whomever you may meet。 We once
enjoyed the company of a prospector three days while he made up his
mind to tackle a certain bit of trail we had just descended。 Our accounts
did not encourage him。 Every morning he used to squint up at the cliff
which rose some four thousand feet above us。 〃Boys；〃 he said finally as
he started； 〃I may drop in on you later in the morning。〃 I am happy to
say he did not。
The most discouraging to the tenderfoot； but in reality the safest of all
bad trails； is the one that skirts a precipice。 Your horse possesses a
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laudable desire to spare your inside leg unnecessary abrasion； so he walks
on the extreme outer edge。 If you watch the performance of the animal
ahead； you will observe that every few moments his outer hind hoof slips
off that edge； knocking little stones down into the abyss。 Then you
conclude that sundry slight jars you have been experiencing are from the
same cause。 Your peace of mind deserts you。 You stare straight ahead；
sit VERY light indeed； and perhaps turn the least bit sick。 The horse；
however； does not mind； nor will you； after a little。 There is absolutely
nothing to do but to sit steady and give your animal his head。 In a fairly
extended experience I never got off the edge but once。 Then somebody
shot a gun immediately ahead； my horse tried to turn around； slipped； and
slid backwards until he overhung the chasm。 Fortunately his hind feet
caught a tiny bush。 He gave a mighty heave； and regained the trail。
Afterwards I took a look and found that there were no more bushes for a
hundred feet either way。
Next in terror to the unaccustomed is an ascent by lacets up a very
steep side hill。 The effect is cumulative。 Each turn brings you one
stage higher； adds definitely one more unit to the test of your hardihood。
This last has not terrified you； how about the next？ or the next？ or the one
after that？ There is not the slightest danger。 You appreciate this point
after you have met head…on some old…timer。 After you have speculated
frantically how you are to pass him； he solves the problem by calmly
turning his horse off the edge and sliding to the next lacet below。 Then
you see that with a mountain horse it does not much matter whether you
get off such a trail or not。
The real bad places are quite as likely to be on the level as on the slant。
The tremendous granite slides； where the cliff has avalanched thousands
of tons of loose jagged rock…fragments across the passage； are the worst。
There your horse has to be a goat in balance。 He must pick his way from
the top of one fragment to the other； and if he slips into the interstices he
probably breaks a leg。 In some parts of the granite country are also
smooth rock aprons where footing is especially difficult； and where often a
slip on them means a toboggan chute off into space。 I know of one spot
where such an apron curves off the shoulder of the mountain。 Your horse
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slides directly down it until his hoofs encounter a little crevice。
Checking at this； he turns sharp to the left and so off to the good trail again。
If he does not check at the little crevice； he slides on over the curve of the
shoulder and lands too far down to bury。
Loose rocks in numbers on a very steep and narrow trail are always an
abomination； and a numerous abomination at that。 A horse slides； skates；
slithers。 It has always seemed to me that luck must count largely in such
a place。 When the animal treads on a loose round stoneas he does
every step of the waythat stone is going to roll under him； and he is
going to catch himself as the nature of that stone and the little gods of
chance may will。 Only furthermore I have noticed that the really good
horse keeps his feet； and the poor one tumbles。 A judgmatical rider can
help a great deal by the delicacy of his riding and the skill with which he
uses his reins。 Or better still； get off and walk。
Another mean combination； especially on a slant； is six inches of snow
over loose stones or small boulders。 There you hope for divine favor and
flounder ahead。 There is one compensation； the snow is soft to fall on。
Boggy areas you must be able to gauge the depth of at a glance。 And
there are places； beautiful to behold； where a horse clambers up the least
bit of an ascent； hits his pack against a projection； and is hurled into outer
space。 You must recognize these； for he will be busy with his feet。
Some of the mountain rivers furnish pleasing afternoons of sport。
They are deep and swift； and below the ford are rapids。 If there is a
fallen tree of any sort across them；remember the length of Califo