on the rocks ahead and from plunging 
over the bank as you turn a sharp 
curve on a steep down grade? If you 
have, then you know the nature of my 
first lesson in four-in-hand driving. 
We got to the bottom at dusk. I 
was too tired to speak. Every muscle 
set up a Separate complaint and I had 
had nothing to eat since morning, as 
we had expected to make camp by 
noon. The world seemed indeed a very 
drab place. We found the hunters 
careering around searching for us. They 
thought they had missed us—as they 
had done the bear. 
I have driven, and been driven, hun- 
dreds of miles since, but there never 
was a ride like those twelve, cruel, 
mocking, pitiless miles over Granite 
Mountain, when necessity taught me a 
very pretty trick, which, however, I 
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