coax quiet a horse that
has promptly decamped when left for a moment to himself. Nor does it add
to your joy to get up at four for the purpose of making an early start,
only to spend the extra hour filched from sleep in an attempt to catch
some snorting fool horse.

The picture I have sketched looks to you somewhat like what is known as
an "old cow," doesn't it? But in reality good horses of the quality
named are not difficult to find. Equine intelligence is of a higher
grade West than East, mainly because a western horse is all his life
thrown on his own resources. It is perfectly possible to find a horse
both handsome and spirited, which will nevertheless permit himself to be
directly approached in pasture, and will stand until further orders on
the trail.

[Sidenote: An "Old Cow" of a Horse]

But the point is that it is much better, oh, infinitely! to get an "old
cow" than a horse without these qualities. The "old cow" will carry you,
and will be there when wanted. That is the main thing in the mountains.
While as for the other horse, no matter how well bred he is, how
spirited, how well gaited, how handsome, how appealing in every way to a
horseman's eye--he will be worse than no horse if you have to keep your
hands on him, if he must be picketed at night, if he is likely to shy on
a bad trail, if he may refuse to tackle a rough place or to swim a
river.

[Illustration: In mid-day the shade of the pines is inviting]

[Sidenote: A Handsome Horse Not Necessary]

Of course it is nice to ride a good-looking horse; but in the mountains
most emphatically "handsome is what handsome does." The horses I now own
are fine animals and fine mountain ponies; but some of the best I have
ever ridden, a horseman would not look at twice. On a time, being under
the absolute necessity of getting a pack quickly, I purchased a bay that
I promptly named Methuselah. He was some sixteen years old, badly stove
forward by hard riding, and not much of a horse anyway. For three months
he carried a pack. Then one day I threw a saddle on him to go a short
distance on some little errand. Methuselah, overjoyed, did his best. The
old horse was one of the best mountain saddlers in the outfit. He
climbed surely and well; he used his head in negotiating bad places;
would stay where he was put. The fact that he was not sound was
utterly unimportant, for not once in a week was he required to go faster
than a walk.

On the other hand I once owned