ON FOOT IN THE YOSEMITE 



I made an early start. The trail offered at least 

 one advantage : it began at my door, with no six 

 miles of superfluous Valley road such as the pre- 

 vious day's jaunt had burdened me with. As for 

 its unbroken steepness, that, I reasoned with 

 myself, was to be overcome by the simple expe- 

 dient of taking it in short steps at a slow pace. 



Well, not to boast of what is not at all boast- 

 worthy (Mr. Galen Clark, ninety-five years old, 

 — may God bless him, he was always showing 

 me kindness, — had made the descent unaccom- 

 panied the season before, though you would never 

 hear him tell of it), I reached the Point in slow 

 time, but without fatigue, the hours having been 

 enlivened by the frequent presence of some jovial 

 members of the California Press Club, trailing 

 one behind another, who by turns overtook and 

 were overtaken by me (the tortoise having some- 

 times the better of it for a little), till every fresh 

 encounter became matter for a jest. We arrived 

 in company, cutting across lots over the hard 

 snow near the top, and then there was no taking 

 of no for an answer. Three of the men were set 

 upon going out upon the celebrated overhanging 

 rock — three thousand feet, more or less, over 

 empty space — to be photographed, and, would 

 he or would n't he, the old " Professor," as with 

 friendly impudence, meaning no disrespect, they 

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