which, naked of these difficulties, we had considered bad enough.

Imagine riding along a slant of rock shelving off to a bad
tumble, so steep that your pony has to do more or less expert
ankle work to keep from slipping off sideways. During the
passage of that rock you are apt to sit very light. Now cover it
with several inches of snow, stick a snowball on each hoof of
your mount, and try again. When you have ridden it--or its
duplicate--a few score of times, select a steep mountain side,
cover it with round rocks the size of your head, and over that
spread a concealing blanket of the same sticky snow. You are
privileged to vary these to the limits of your imagination.

Once across the divide, we ran into a new sort of trouble. You
may remember that on our journey over we had been forced to
travel for some distance in a narrow stream-bed. During our
passage we had scrambled up some rather steep and rough slopes,
and hopped up some fairly high ledges. Now we found the
heretofore dry bed flowing a good eight inches deep. The steep
slopes had become cascades; the ledges, waterfalls. When we
came to them, we had to "shoot the rapids" as best we could,
only to land with a PLUNK in an indeterminately deep pool at the
bottom. Some of the pack horses went down, sousing again our
unfortunate bedding, but by the grace of fortune not a saddle
pony lost his feet.

After a time the gorge widened. We came out into the box canon
with its trees. Here the water spread and shoaled to a depth of
only two or three inches. We splashed along gaily enough, for,
with the exception of an occasional quicksand or boggy spot, our