was a cruel
road. They pointed out to him the line where it wound, doubling and
tacking on the sides of precipices, like a path for a goat or chamois.
Aunt Ri shuddered at the sight, but said nothing.

"I'm gwine whar he goes," she said grimly to herself. "I ain't a gwine
ter back daown naow; but I dew jest wish Jeff Hyer wuz along."

Felipe himself disliked what he saw and heard of the grade. The road
had been built for bringing down lumber, and for six miles it was at
perilous angles. After this it wound along on ridges and in ravines till
it reached the heart of a great pine forest, where stood a saw-mill.
Passing this, it plunged into still darker, denser woods, some fifteen
miles farther on, and then came out among vast opens, meadows, and
grassy foot-hills, still on the majestic mountain's northern or eastern
slopes. From these, another steep road, little more than a trail, led
south, and up to the Cahuilla village. A day and a half's hard journey,
at the shortest, it was from Merrill's; and no one unfamiliar with the
country could find the last part of the way without a guide. Finally
it was arranged that one of the younger Merrills should go in this
capacity, and should also take two of his strongest horses, accustomed
to the road. By the help of these the terrible ascent was made without
difficulty, though Baba at first snorted, plunged, and resented the
humiliation of being harnessed with his head at another horse's tail.

Except for their sad errand, both Felipe and Aunt Ri would have
experienced a keen delight in this ascent. With each fresh lift on the
precipitous terraces, the view off to the south and west broadened,
until the whole San Jacinto Valley lay unrolled at their feet. The pines
were grand; standing, they seemed shapely columns; fallen, the upper
curve of their huge yellow disks came above a man's head, so massive was
their size. On many of them the bark had been riddled from root to top,
as by myriads of bullet-holes. In each hole had been cunningly stored
away an acorn,--the woodpeckers' granaries.

"Look at thet, naow!" exclaimed the observant Aunt Ri; "an' thar's
folk's thet sez dumb critters ain't got brains. They ain't noways dumb
to each other, I notice; an' we air dumb aourselves when we air ketched
with furriners. I allow I'm next door to dumb myself with this hyar
Mexican I'm er travellin' with."

"That's so!" replied Sam Merrill. "When we fust got here, I thought I'd
ha' gone cl