244 
THE TIRING ROCKS. 
we had emerged from the bed of a torrent, where 
the ponies slid in the slime and slipped on the 
smooth stones, the day had somewhat declined 
* — a needed relief, for real effort now awaited us. 
Without daring a pause, lest the animals should 
lose the forward impetus as they panted up- 
wards, leaping and clambering, with only an 
occasional straggling tree-root or a jutting rock 
to afford foothold, for half an hour we mounted 
that torrent -washed steep, keeping our seats 
only by a firm grasp on the mane, and longing 
for the level. It came at length, a smooth and 
green plateau, which after a few hundred yards 
narrowed into a path by the flank of a deep 
glen, so broken that a slip over the precipice 
seemed inevitable. But we passed that danger, 
and mounted out of another gorge to face the 
sharpest ascent we had encountered. Ii. dis- 
mounted and kept by my bridle, encouraging 
me with the assurance that this was the last 
really hard part of the way. With a grateful 
feeling towards the good little steeds, which 
seemed as much at home on such steeps as a 
chamois in its wild native haunts, we finally 
ascended a gradual slope, with time to look 
around on the repetition on either hand of spur 
and valley and village cluster reposing in the 
