even when more work seemed like an imposition.
You could not fail to fall in love with his mild
inquiring gentle eyes, and his utter trust in the
goodness of human nature. His only fault was an excess
of caution. Old Slob was very very experienced. He
knew all about trails, and he declined to be hurried
over what he considered a bad place. Wes used
sometimes to disagree with him as to what constituted
a bad place. "Some day you're going to take
a tumble, you old fool," Wes used to address him,
"if you go on fiddling down steep rocks with your
little old monkey work. Why don't you step out?"
Only Old Slob never did take a tumble. He was
willing to do anything for you, even to the assuming
of a pack. This is considered by a saddle-animal
distinctly as a come-down.

The Tenderfoot, by the irony of fate, drew a
tenderfoot horse. Tunemah was a big fool gray that
was constitutionally rattle-brained. He meant well
enough, but he didn't know anything. When he
came to a bad place in the trail, he took one good
look--and rushed it. Constantly we expected him
to come to grief. It wore on the Tenderfoot's nerves.
Tunemah was always trying to wander off the trail,
trying fool routes of his own invention. If he were
sent ahead to set the pace, he lagged and loitered and
constantly looked back, worried lest he get too far in
advance and so lose the bunch. If put at the rear, he
fretted against the bit, trying to push on at a senseless