The Mountains

Six trails lead to the main ridge. They are all good trails, so that even the casual tourist in thelittle Spanish-American town on the seacoast need have nothing to fear from the ascent. In somespots they contract to an arm's length of space, outside of which limit they drop sheer away;elsewhere they stand up on end, zigzag in lacets each more hair-raising than the last, or fill todemoralization with loose boulders and shale. A fall on the part of your horse would mean amore than serious accident; but Western horses do not fall. The major premise stands: even thecasual tourist has no real reason for fear, however scared he may become. Our favorite route to the main ridge was by a way called the Cold Spring Trail. We used toenjoy taking visitors up it, mainly because you come on the top suddenly, without warning. Thenwe collected remarks. Everybody, even the most stolid, said something. You rode three miles on the flat, two in the leafy and gradually ascending creek-bed of acañon, a half hour of laboring steepness in the overarching mountain lilac and laurel. There youcame to a great rock gateway which seemed the top of the world. At the gateway was a BadPlace where the ponies planted warily their little hoofs, and the visitor played "eyes front," andbesought that his mount should not stumble.