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somewhere to the east。 How he had done it I can never guess。 That is
his secret。
The tenderfoot is always in hard luck。 Apparently； too； by all tests of
analysis it is nothing but luck； pure chance； misfortune。 And yet the very
persistence of it in his case； where another escapes； perhaps indicates that
much of what we call good luck is in reality unconscious skill in the
arrangement of those elements which go to make up events。 A
persistently unlucky man is perhaps sometimes to be pitied； but more
often to be booted。 That philosophy will be cryingly unjust about once
in ten。
But lucky or unlucky； the tenderfoot is human。 Ordinarily that
doesn't occur to you。 He is a malevolent engine of destructionquite as
impersonal as heat or cold or lack of water。 He is an unfortunate article
of personal belonging requiring much looking after to keep in order。
He is a credulous and convenient response to practical jokes； huge tales；
misinformation。 He is a laudable object of attrition for the
development of your character。 But somehow； in the woods； he is not
as other men； and so you do not come to feel yourself in close human
relations to him。
But Algernon is real； nevertheless。 He has feelings； even if you do
not respect them。 He has his little enjoyments； even though he does
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THE MOUNTAINS
rarely contemplate anything but the horn of his saddle。
〃Algernon；〃 you cry； 〃for heaven's sake stick that saddle of yours in a
glass case and glut yourself with the sight of its ravishing beauties next
WINTER。 For the present do gaze on the mountains。 That's what you
came for。〃
No use。
He has； doubtless； a full range of all the appreciative emotions； though
from his actions you'd never suspect it。 Most human of all； he
possesses his little vanities。
Algernon always overdoes the equipment question。 If it is bird…
shooting； he accumulates leggings and canvas caps and belts and dog…
whistles and things until he looks like a picture from a department…store
catalogue。 In the cow country he wears Stetson hats； snake bands； red
handkerchiefs； six…shooters； chaps； and huge spurs that do not match his
face。 If it is yachting； he has a chronometer with a gong in the cabin of a
five…ton sailboat； possesses a nickle…plated machine to register the heel of
his craft； sports a brass…bound yachting…cap and all the regalia。 This is
merely amusing。 But I never could understand his insane desire to get
sunburned。 A man will get sunburned fast enough； he could not help it if
he would。 Algernon usually starts out from town without a hat。 Then
he dares not take off his sweater for a week lest it carry away his entire
face。 I have seen men with deep sores on their shoulders caused by
nothing but excessive burning in the sun。 This； too； is merely amusing。
It means quite simply that Algernon realizes his inner deficiencies and
wants to make up for them by the outward seeming。 Be kind to him； for
he has been raised a pet。
The tenderfoot is lovablemysterious in how he does itand awfully
unexpected。
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THE MOUNTAINS
XII
THE CANON
One day we tied our horses to three bushes； and walked on foot two
hundred yards。 Then we looked down。
It was nearly four thousand feet down。 Do you realize how far that is？
There was a river meandering through olive…colored forests。 It was so
distant that it was light green and as narrow as a piece of tape。 Here and
there were rapids； but so remote that we could not distinguish the motion
of them； only the color。 The white resembled tiny dabs of cotton wool
stuck on the tape。 It turned and twisted； following the turns and twists of
the canon。 Somehow the level at the bottom resembled less forests and
meadows than a heavy and sluggish fluid like molasses flowing between
the canon walls。 It emerged from the bend of a sheer cliff ten miles to
eastward： it disappeared placidly around the bend of another sheer cliff an
equal distance to the westward。
The time was afternoon。 As we watched； the shadow of the canon
wall darkened the valley。 Whereupon we looked up。
Now the upper air； of which we were dwellers for the moment； was
peopled by giants and clear atmosphere and glittering sunlight； flashing
like silver and steel and precious stones from the granite domes； peaks；
minarets； and palisades of the High Sierras。 Solid as they were in reality；
in the crispness of this mountain air； under the tangible blue of this
mountain sky； they seemed to poise light as so many balloons。 Some of
them rose sheer； with hardly a fissure； some had flung across their
shoulders long trailing pine draperies； fine as fur； others matched
mantles of the whitest white against the bluest blue of the sky。
Towards the lower country were more pines rising in ridges； like the fur
of an animal that has been alarmed。
We dangled our feet over the edge and talked about it。 Wes pointed
to the upper end where the sluggish lava…like flow of the canon…bed first
came into view。
〃That's where we'll camp；〃 said he。
〃When？〃 we asked。
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〃When we get there；〃 he answered。
For this canon lies in the heart of the mountains。 Those who would
visit it have first to get into the countrya matter of over a week。 Then
they have their choice of three probabilities of destruction。
The first route comprehends two final days of travel at an altitude of
about ten thousand feet； where the snow lies in midsummer； where there is
no feed； no comfort； and the way is strewn with the bones of horses。
This is known as the 〃Basin Trail。〃 After taking it； you prefer the others…
…until you try them。
The finish of the second route is directly over the summit of a
mountain。 You climb two thousand feet and then drop down five。 The
ascent is heart… breaking but safe。 The descent is hair…raising and unsafe：
no profanity can do justice to it。 Out of a pack…train of thirty mules； nine
were lost in the course of that five thousand feet。 Legend has it that once
many years ago certain prospectors took in a Chinese cook。 At first the
Mongolian bewailed his fate loudly and fluently； but later settled to a
single terrified moan that sounded like 〃tu…ne…mah！ tu…ne… mah！〃 The
trail was therefore named the 〃Tu…ne… mah Trail。〃 It is said that 〃tu…ne…
mah〃 is the very worst single vituperation of which the Chinese language
is capable。
The third route is called 〃Hell's Half Mile。〃 It is not misnamed。
Thus like paradise the canon is guarded； but like paradise it is
wondrous in delight。 For when you descend you find that the tape…wide
trickle of water seen from above has become a river with profound
darkling pools and placid stretches and swift dashing rapids； that the dark
green sluggish flow in the canon…bed has disintegrated into a noble forest
with great pine…trees； and shaded aisles； and deep dank thickets； and brush
openings where the sun is warm and the birds are cheerful； and groves of
cottonwoods where all day long softly； like snow； the flakes of cotton float
down through the air。 Moreover there are meadows； spacious lawns；
opening out； closing in； winding here and there through the groves in the
manner of spilled naphtha； actually waist high with green feed； sow