look down into eternity without a shudder. But Aggie and I were
still nervous, and at the steepest places we got off and walked.

The unfortunate part was that the exercise and the mountain air made
Aggie hungry, and there was little that she could eat.

"If any one had told me a month ago," she said, mopping her forehead,
"that I would be scaling the peaks of my country on crackers and tea, I
wouldn't have believed it. I'm done out, Lizzie. I can't climb another
inch."

Bill was ahead with the pack horse, and Tish, overhearing her, called
back some advice.

"Take your horse's tail and let him pull you up, Aggie," she said. "I've
read it somewhere."

Aggie, although frequently complaining, always does as Tish suggests. So
she took the horse's tail, when a totally unexpected thing happened.
Docile as the creature generally was, it objected at once, and kicked
out with both rear feet. In a moment, it seemed to me, Aggie was gone,
and her horse was moving on alone.

"Aggie!" I called in a panic.

Tish stopped, and we both looked about. Then we saw her, lying on a
ledge about ten feet below the trail. She was flat on her back, and her
riding-hat was gone. But she was uninjured, although shaken, for as we
looked she sat up, and an agonized expression came over her face.

"Aggie!" I cried. "Is anything broken?"

"Damnation!" said Aggie in an awful voice. "The upper set is gone!"

I have set down exactly what Aggie said. I admit that the provocation
was great. But Tish was not one to make allowances, and she turned and
went on, leaving us alone. She is not without feeling, however, for from
the top of the pass she sent Bill down with a rope, and we dragged poor
Aggie to the trail again. Her nerves were shaken and she was repentant
also, for when she found that her hat was gone she said nothing,
although her eyes took on a hunted look.

At the top of the pass Tish was sitting on a stone. She had taken her
mending-box from the saddle, where she always kept it handy, and was
drawing up a hole in her stocking. I observed to her pleasantly that it
was a sign of scandal to mend clothing while still on, but she ignored
me, although, as I reflected bitterly, I had not been kicked over the
cliff.

It was a subdued and speechless Aggie who followed us that afternoon
along the trail. As her hat was gone, I took the spare dish towel and
made a turban for her, with an end hanging down to protect the back of
her neck. But sh