My friend would go ahead a few feet, picking a route.
When he had made his decision, he called Blue. Blue
came that far, and no farther. Several times the little
horse balanced painfully and unsteadily like a goat,
all four feet on a boulder, waiting for his signal to
advance. In this manner they regained the trail, and
proceeded as though nothing had happened. Instances
could be multiplied indefinitely.

A good animal adapts himself quickly. He is
capable of learning by experience. In a country
entirely new to him he soon discovers the best method
of getting about, where the feed grows, where he can
find water. He is accustomed to foraging for himself.
You do not need to show him his pasturage.
If there is anything to eat anywhere in the district he
will find it. Little tufts of bunch-grass growing
concealed under the edges of the brush, he will search out.
If he cannot get grass, he knows how to rustle for the
browse of small bushes. Bullet would devour sage-
brush, when he could get nothing else; and I have
even known him philosophically to fill up on dry
pine-needles. There is no nutrition in dry pine-
needles, but Bullet got a satisfyingly full belly. On the
trail a well-seasoned horse will be always on the forage,
snatching here a mouthful, yonder a single spear of
grass, and all without breaking the regularity of his
gait, or delaying the pack-train behind him. At the
end of the day's travel he is that much to the good.