he will tell
you. This means that his experience subconsciously arranges certain
factors from which the sixth sense we are discussing draws certain
deductions. A mountaineer, for example, recognizes the altitude by the
vegetation. Knowing the altitude he knows also the country formation,
and so he can tell at once whether the canyon before him will narrow to
an impassable gorge, or remain open enough to admit of passage. This in
turn determines whether he shall choose the ravines or ridges in
crossing a certain divide, and exactly how he can descend on the other
side. The example is one of the simpler. A good man thus noses his way
through a difficult country with considerable accuracy where a
tenderfoot would become speedily lost.

[Sidenote: Thoroughness]

[Sidenote: Be Sure You Are Right]

But if a sense of direction is the prime requisite, thoroughness presses
it close. It is sometimes very difficult to command the necessary
patience. At the end of a hard day, with the almost moral certainty that
the objective point is just ahead, it is easy, fatally easy, when the
next dim blaze does not immediately appear, to say to oneself--"Oh, it's
near enough"--and to plunge ahead. And then, nine times out of ten, you
are in trouble. "I guess this is all right" has lost many a man; and the
haste too great to be sure--and then again sure--has had many fatal
results. If it is a trail, then be certain you see indications before
proceeding. Should they fail, then go back to the last indication and
start over again. If it is new country, then pick up every consideration
in your power, and balance them carefully before making the smallest
decision. And all the time keep figuring. Once having decided on a
route, do not let the matter there rest. As you proceed keep your eyes
and mind busy, weighing each bit of evidence. And if you become
suspicious that you are on the wrong tack, turn back unhesitatingly, no
matter how time presses.

A recent expedition with a fatal termination illustrates this point
completely. At first sight it may seem invidious to call attention to
the mistakes of a man who has laid down his life in payment for them.
But it seems to me that the chief value of such sad accidents--beyond
the lessons of courage, endurance, comradeship, devotion, and beautiful
faith--lies in the lesson and warning to those likely to fall into the
same blunders. I knew Hubbard, both at college and later, and admire and
like him.