illusion that has faded away into the 
past, and is not worth while; that the 
real life is to be free, to fly over the 
grassy mountain meadow with never 
a limitation of fence or house, with the 
eternal peaks towering around you, ter- 
rible in their grandeur and vastness, yet 
inviting. 
We struck the trail all right, we 
thought, but it soon disappeared and 
we had to govern our course by imagi- 
nation, an uncertain guide at best. We 
got into dreadful tangles of timber; the 
country was all strange, and the trees 
spread over the mountain for miles, so 
that it was like trying to find the way 
under a blanket; but we kept on rid- 
ing our horses over fallen logs and 
squeezing them between trees, all the 
time keeping a sharp watch over them, 
for they were fresh and scary. 
ae 
CI 
es 
iogemoema\o pe 
SS 
