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with perfume that lay on the air like a heavy drowsiness； long clear
stretches of an ankle… high shrub of vivid emerald； looking in the distance
like sloping meadows of a peculiar color…brilliance； patches of smaller
flowers where for the trifling space of a street's width the sun had
unobstructed fall； these from time to time diversified the way； brought to
our perceptions the endearing trifles of earthiness； of humanity； befittingly
to modify the austerity of the great forest。 At a brookside we saw； still
fresh and moist； the print of a bear's foot。 From a patch of the little
emerald brush； a barren doe rose to her feet； eyed us a moment； and then
bounded away as though propelled by springs。 We saw her from time to
time surmounting little elevations farther and farther away。
The air was like cold water。 We had not lung capacity to satisfy our
desire for it。 There came with it a dry exhilaration that brought high
spirits； an optimistic viewpoint； and a tremendous keen appetite。 It
seemed that we could never tire。 In fact we never did。 Sometimes； after
a particularly hard day； we felt like resting； but it was always after the
day's work was done； never while it was under way。 The Tenderfoot and
I one day went afoot twenty…two miles up and down a mountain fourteen
thousand feet high。 The last three thousand feet were nearly straight up
and down。 We finished at a four…mile clip an hour before sunset； and
discussed what to do next to fill in the time。 When we sat down； we
found we had had about enough； but we had not discovered it before。
All of us； even the morose and cynical Dinkey； felt the benefit of the
change from the lower country。 Here we were definitely in the
Mountains。 Our plateau ran from six to eight thousand feet in altitude。
Beyond it occasionally we could see three more ridges； rising and falling；
each higher than the last。 And then； in the blue distance； the very crest of
the broad system called the Sierras；another wide region of sheer granite
rising in peaks； pinnacles； and minarets； rugged； wonderful； capped with
the eternal snows。
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IX
THE TRAIL
When you say 〃trail〃 to a Westerner； his eye lights up。 This is
because it means something to him。 To another it may mean something
entirely different； for the blessed word is of that rare and beautiful
category which is at once of the widest significance and the most intimate
privacy to him who utters it。 To your mind leaps the picture of the dim
forest…aisles and the murmurings of tree…top breezes； to him comes a
vision of the wide dusty desert； to me； perhaps； a high wild country of
wonder。 To all of us it is the slender； unbroken； never… ending thread
connecting experiences。
For in a mysterious way； not to be understood； our trails never do end。
They stop sometimes； and wait patiently while we dive in and out of
houses； but always when we are ready to go on； they are ready too； and so
take up the journey placidly as though nothing had intervened。 They
begin； when？ Sometime； away in the past； you may remember a single
episode； vivid through the mists of extreme youth。 Once a very little boy
walked with his father under a green roof of leaves that seemed farther
than the sky and as unbroken。 All of a sudden the man raised his gun and
fired upwards； apparently through the green roof。 A pause ensued。
Then； hurtling roughly through still that same green roof； a great bird fell；
hitting the earth with a thump。 The very little boy was I。 My trail must
have begun there under the bright green roof of leaves。
From that earliest moment the Trail unrolls behind you like a thread so
that never do you quite lose connection with your selves。 There is
something a little fearful to the imaginative in the insistence of it。 You
may camp； you may linger； but some time or another； sooner or later； you
must go on； and when you do； then once again the Trail takes up its
continuity without reference to the muddied place you have tramped out in
your indecision or indolence or obstinacy or necessity。 It would be
exceedingly curious to follow out in patience the chart of a man's going；
tracing the pattern of his steps with all its windings of nursery； playground；
boys afield； country； city； plain； forest； mountain； wilderness； home；
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always on and on into the higher country of responsibility until at the last
it leaves us at the summit of the Great Divide。 Such a pattern would
tell his story as surely as do the tracks of a partridge on the snow。
A certain magic inheres in the very name； or at least so it seems to me。
I should be interested to know whether others feel the same glamour that I
do in the contemplation of such syllables as the Lo…Lo Trail； the Tunemah
Trail； the Mono Trail； the Bright Angel Trail。 A certain elasticity of
application too leaves room for the more connotation。 A trail may be
almost anything。 There are wagon…trails which East would rank as
macadam roads； horse…trails that would compare favorably with our best
bridle…paths； foot…trails in the fur country worn by constant use as smooth
as so many garden…walks。 Then again there are other arrangements。 I
have heard a mule…driver overwhelmed with skeptical derision because he
claimed to have upset but six times in traversing a certain bit of trail not
over five miles long； in charts of the mountains are marked many trails
which are only 〃ways through；〃you will find few traces of predecessors；
the same can be said of trails in the great forests where even an Indian is
sometimes at fault。 〃Johnny； you're lost；〃 accused the white man。
〃Trail lost： Injun here；〃 denied the red man。 And so after your experience
has led you by the campfires of a thousand delights； and each of those
campfires is on the Trail； which only pauses courteously for your stay and
then leads on untiring into new mysteries forever and ever； you come to
love it as the donor of great joys。 You too become a Westerner； and
when somebody says 〃trail；〃 your eye too lights up。
The general impression of any particular trail is born rather of the little
incidents than of the big accidents。 The latter are exotic； and might
belong to any time or places； the former are individual。 For the Trail is a
vantage…ground； and from it； as your day's travel unrolls； you see many
things。 Nine tenths of your experience comes thus； for in the long
journeys the side excursions are few enough and unimportant enough
almost to merit classification with the accidents。 In time the character of
the Trail thus defines itself。
Most of all； naturally； the kind of country has to do with this
generalized impression。 Certain surprises； through trees； of vista looking
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out over unexpected spaces； little notches in the hills beyond which you
gain to a placid far country sleeping under a sun warmer than your
elevation permits； the delicious excitement of the moment when you
approach the very knife…edge of the summit and wonder what lies
beyond；these are the things you remember with a warm heart。 Your
saddle is a point of vantage。 By it you are elevated above the country；
from it you