man
tormented by boys. His game after we led him forth was to keep
himself as much as possible in the shape of a ball, but with two
sticks and the cord we finally threw him over on his back and
exposed his quill-less and vulnerable under side, when he fairly
surrendered and seemed to say, "Now you may do with me as you like."
His great chisel-like teeth, which are quite as formidable as those
of the woodchuck, he does not appear to use at all in his defense,
but relies entirely upon his quills, and when those fail him, he is
done for.

[Illustration: THE WITTENBERG FROM WOODLAND VALLEY]

After amusing ourselves with him awhile longer, we released him and
went on our way. The trail to which we had committed ourselves led
us down into Woodland Valley, a retreat which so took my eye by its
fine trout brook, its superb mountain scenery, and its sweet
seclusion, that I marked it for my own, and promised myself a return
to it at no distant day. This promise I kept, and pitched my tent
there twice during that season. Both occasions were a sort of laying
siege to Slide, but we only skirmished with him at a distance; the
actual assault was not undertaken. But the following year,
reinforced by two other brave climbers, we determined upon the
assault, and upon making it from this the most difficult side. The
regular way is by Big Ingin Valley, where the climb is comparatively
easy, and where it is often made by women. But from Woodland Valley
only men may essay the ascent. Larkins is the upper inhabitant, and
from our camping-ground near his clearing we set out early one June
morning.

One would think nothing could be easier to find than a big mountain,
especially when one is encamped upon a stream which he knows springs
out of its very loins. But for some reason or other we had got an
idea that Slide Mountain was a very slippery customer and must be
approached cautiously. We had tried from several points in the
valley to get a view of it, but were not quite sure we had seen its
very head. When on the Wittenberg, a neighboring peak, the year
before, I had caught a brief glimpse of it only by climbing a dead
tree and craning up for a moment from its topmost branch. It would
seem as if the mountain had taken every precaution to shut itself
off from a near view. It was a shy mountain, and we were about to
stalk it through six or seven miles of primitive woods, and we
seemed to have some unreasonable fear that it might elude u