lways seemed to me that luck must count
largely in such a place. When the animal treads on a loose round
stone--as he does every step of the way--that stone is going to roll
under him, and he is going to catch himself as the nature of that stone
and the little gods of chance may will. Only furthermore I have
noticed that the really good horse keeps his feet, and the poor one
tumbles. A judgmatical rider can help a great deal by the delicacy of
his riding and the skill with which he uses his reins. Or better
still, get off and walk.

Another mean combination, especially on a slant, is six inches of snow
over loose stones or small boulders. There you hope for divine favor
and flounder ahead. There is one compensation; the snow is soft to
fall on. Boggy areas you must be able to gauge the depth of at a
glance. And there are places, beautiful to behold, where a horse
clambers up the least bit of an ascent, hits his pack against a
projection, and is hurled into outer space. You must recognize these,
for he will be busy with his feet.

Some of the mountain rivers furnish pleasing afternoons of sport. They
are deep and swift, and below the ford are rapids. If there is a
fallen tree of any sort across them,--remember the length of California
trees, and do not despise the rivers,--you would better unpack, carry
your goods across yourself, and swim the pack-horses. If the current
is very bad, you can splice riatas, hitch one end to the horse and the
other to a tree on the farther side, and start the combination. The
animal is bound to swing across somehow. Generally you can drive them
over loose. In swimming a horse from the saddle, start him well
upstream to allow for the current, and never, never, never attempt to
guide him by the bit. The Tenderfoot tried that at Mono Creek and
nearly drowned himself and Old Slob. You would better let him alone,
as he probably knows more than you do. If you must guide him, do it by
hitting the side of his head with the flat of your hand.

Sometimes it is better that you swim. You can perform that feat by
clinging to his mane on the downstream side, but it will be easier both
for you and him if you hang to his tail. Take my word for it, he will
not kick you.

Once in a blue moon you may be able to cross the whole outfit on logs.
Such a log bridge spanned Granite Creek near the North Fork of the San
Joaquin at an elevation of about seven thousand feet. It was suspended
a