THE TRAIL 215 



arabesqued with golden stars, and the big tam- 

 aracks lean nearer in the friendliest way. 



And then the long, long smokes and the long, 

 long talks about the fire, and, better still, the long 

 silences. For on the trail you learn each other. 

 You do not talk unless you have something to say. 

 And best of all are those long silences. 



The lost friend sits at your elbow. The lost love 

 whispers in your ear as of old. The dreams of 

 youth return, and all that you would, but failed 

 of, seems near and possible. And so, at last, to 

 dreamless sleep — sleep that the forest life, coming 

 and going about you on its nocturnal business, 

 is powerless to disturb. 



But there is another side to it. It is not all 

 jam and pickles. There are days when wood and 

 water are far apart. Days when you crawl up 

 long slopes and climb down by precipitous paths, 

 where you must dismount and lead your horse 

 down granite slides where a misstep would mean 

 the end of things. Days when grub is scarce and 

 water more so. When you ride for hours through 

 barren desert wastes, till your tongue swells and 



