EWING’S STORY 59 
reserve of the even-voiced, impassive packer was in- 
variably impenetrable. 
The chances are that I would have left the hills 
no more enlightened in regard tothe subject of my 
constant conjectures than when I began the season, 
had it not been for an accident which had the effect 
of at length unlocking the door of Ewing’s confi- 
dence. 
It happened this way. Coming in from a run one 
afternoon I encountered the packer, who was out 
hunting burros. We continued together, he riding 
ahead and I following on foot along the narrow trail. 
At one place the path woumd along the edge of an 
ugly cliff, some two hundred feet high. Here, as 
luck would have it, we ran slap into a nest. of yel- 
low jackets. 
This was bad enough in itself, but to make mat- 
ters worse Ewing’s horse, frantic with pain, reared, 
leaped, and pitched so violently that his rider, though 
an expert horseman, had all he could do to keep 
astride the maddened animal. Twice they swung 
dangerously near the edge of the bluff and each time 
Ewing brought his mount around and with quirt and 
spur drove him from the abyss. , 
Again the ticklish mancuvre was repeated, the 
horse whirling, pivot-like, upon the very brink of 
the precipice. This time he swerved too close to the 
edge. As he turned, rearing, the soft rock beneath 
his feet crumbled and gave; his hind quarters slid 
slowly back and downward. I saw the haunches 
