back of Milda's neck. She jumps to escape--which is her second jump, for
the first one came when the lash exploded. The Outlaw reaches for Maid's
neck, and Maid, who has already jumped and tried to bolt, tries to bolt
harder. And all this infinitesimal fraction of time I am trying to hold
the four animals with my left hand, while my whip-lash, writhing through
the air, is coming back to me. Three simultaneous things I must do: keep
hold of the four reins with my left hand; slam on the brake with my foot;
and on the rebound catch that flying lash in the hollow of my right arm
and get the bight of it safely into my right hand. Then I must get two
of the four lines back into my right hand and keep the horses from
running away or going over the grade. Try it some time. You will find
life anything but wearisome. Why, the first time I hit the mark and made
the lash go off like a revolver shot, I was so astounded and delighted
that I was paralysed. I forgot to do any of the multitudinous other
things, tangled the whip lash in Maid's harness, and was forced to call
upon Charmian for assistance. And now, confession. I carry a few
pebbles handy. They're great for reaching Prince in a tight place. But
just the same I'm learning that whip every day, and before I get home I
hope to discard the pebbles. And as long as I rely on pebbles, I cannot
truthfully speak of myself as "tooling a four-in-hand."

From Garberville, where we ate eel to repletion and got acquainted with
the aborigines, we drove down the Eel River Valley for two days through
the most unthinkably glorious body of redwood timber to be seen anywhere
in California. From Dyerville on to Eureka, we caught glimpses of
railroad construction and of great concrete bridges in the course of
building, which advertised that at least Humboldt County was going to be
linked to the rest of the world.

We still consider our trip is just begun. As soon as this is mailed from