abruptly as it crossed the sharp
line of shade it disappeared.

From these spruce woods, level as a floor, we came out on the rounded
shoulder of a mountain to find ourselves nearly nine thousand feet
above the sea. Below us was a deep canon to the middle of the earth.
And spread in a semicircle about the curve of our mountain a most
magnificent panoramic view. First there were the plains, represented by
a brown haze of heat; then, very remote, the foot-hills, the
brush-hills, the pine mountains, the upper timber, the tremendous
granite peaks, and finally the barrier of the main crest with its
glittering snow. From the plains to that crest was over seventy miles.
I should not dare say how far we could see down the length of the
range; nor even how distant was the other wall of the canon over which
we rode. Certainly it was many miles; and to reach the latter point
consumed three days.

It is useless to multiply instances. The principle is well enough
established by these. Whatever impression of your trail you carry away
will come from the little common occurrences of every day. That is
true of all trails; and equally so, it seems to me, of our Trail of
Life sketched at the beginning of this essay.

But the trail of the mountains means more than wonder; it means hard
work. Unless you stick to the beaten path, where the freighters have
lost so many mules that they have finally decided to fix things up a
bit, you are due for lots of trouble. Bad places will come to be a
nightmare with you and a topic of conversation with whomever you may
meet. We once enjoyed the company of a prospector three days while he
made up his mind to tackle a certain bit of trail we had just
descended. Our accounts did not encourage him. Every morning he used
to squint up at the cliff which rose some four thousand feet above us.
"Boys," he said finally as he started, "I may drop in on you later in
the morning." I am happy to say he did not.

The most discouraging to the tenderfoot, but in reality the safest of
all bad trails, is the one that skirts a precipice. Your horse
possesses a laudable desire to spare your inside leg unnecessary
abrasion, so he walks on the extreme outer edge. If you watch the
performance of the animal ahead, you will observe that every few
moments his outer hind hoof slips off that edge, knocking little stones
down into the abyss. Then you conclude that sundry slight jars you have
been experiencing are fr