THE ANIMAS 121, 
ered with a fairly deep humus which afforded a 
foothold. This was all, I verily believe, which kept 
the entire outfit from immediately sliding pell-mell 
down five hundred feet of mountain side to the 
bottom. 
As it was we were not without excitement of a sort. 
Old Red started things going. She carried the ‘‘of- 
fice boxes,’’? large wooden kyacks containing in- 
struments, maps, drawing materials, and similar 
paraphernalia. They were bulky and clumsy enough 
on a level. And now Red had not taken ten tenta- 
tive, mincing, downward steps before one of the 
ill-fated affairs caught against the side of the hill 
and threw the burro off her balance. Over she went, 
sideways, and began to roll. 
“Good-bye Red, good-bye boxes!’’ sang out Fra- 
zer; dolefully. It seemed as if they were doomed. 
But as luck would have it, the falling animal, be- 
fore she had gathered any great momentum, collided 
with a small tree, stopped abruptly in her spectacu- 
lar flight, regained her feet and scrambled up again 
to where the others were. Nor did she again allow 
her protruding pack to interfere with an orderly, 
if slow, descent. 
Methusalum was the next victim of the force of 
gravity. About half way down her breeching strap 
broke and the pack slipped over her head. She 
backed out of the harness with a skilful wriggle 
and standing unemotionally by watched the escaped 
burden go crashing down the hill. 
