rm my feet. The trail wound up and up. Today I slid down on Dixie's
tail, whereas yesterday I had braced my heels against her ears. A young
snowslide came down the mountainside, and we almost went on with it. It
missed us by such a very slight margin that fugitive snowballs rolled
around Dixie's feet and left her trembling and cringing with fright.

Dixie and I had been loitering quite a distance behind, because White
Mountain had made us a little mad about something; but we decided we
really had no right to be killed without letting him know about it, and
we kept close to his heels the rest of the way.

All too soon we reached near-zero weather again. It got zero, then
zero-er, and quickly zero-est. I thought of all the hot things I could
remember, endeavoring to raise the temperature.

Real chili con carne.

Pennsylvania Avenue in August.

Hornet stings.

Spankings sustained in my youth!

It was useless. I couldn't qualify as a Scientist. Maybe I lacked
concentration, for between looking out for another avalanche and
wondering how soon I could decently ask for another cup of coffee from
the thermos bottle, my thoughts wandered.

Perhaps the Chief was cold, too. Anyway, we stopped at Santa Maria
Spring and spread out our lunch. The quaint little shelter over the
spring was being rapidly covered with Boston ivy. White Mountain said
Earl Shirley used to ride down there twice a week after a hard day's
work to water the newly set plants so they would grow. One is always
learning new things about Western men!

It was mighty good to find Ranger Fisk at the top of the trail. He said
he thought I would be cold and tired so he brought a flivver to take me
the remaining six miles in to Headquarters. He had the house warm and
had melted snow for drinking-water. All the water pipes had frozen while
we were gone, and I washed my face with cold cream for several days.

I hadn't more than settled down comfortably when the Chief found it
necessary to make another trip down. When he mentioned going I played
the piano so loud I couldn't hear him. I had no desire to go. Not while
I could sit in my warm house and read and sew in my comfortable rocking
chair. It was without a single qualm that I waved him a floury adieu
from the midst of cookie-making. I closed the door and went back to my
baking, which was abruptly terminated by a blazing board falling into
the crock of dough. The house was burning over my luckless head. I
tur