THE FORKS OF PIGEON RIVER 289 
on, also when pursuing Rattlesnake Knobs, or 
Branches, or Ridges, or Dens, one may as well look 
first and give plenty of notice of his approach. But 
as a rule one does not go to such places. The people 
know where they are and carefully avoid them, one 
man who had killed many rattlesnakes summing 
up the sentiment of the mountains when he said, "I 
am not afeard of a knife, or a gun, or a varmint, but 
I am afeard of a snake." 
The top of Cold Mountain, to which cattle and 
sheep are driven for the summer, is an extensive 
pasture of blue-grass and white-clover, where a large 
spring of water, cold and delicious, wells forth. To 
spend a summer day roaming about one of these 
high balds is a pleasure one cannot repeat too often. 
In the splendid exhilaration of the air, which is not 
thin enough to be oppressive, and through the cold 
tissues of which the sun sends a delicious flood of 
warmth, the body seems taken up and rejuvenated. 
And where else is the sky so luminous, the clouds so 
purely white? From one point and another you look 
out over a world of mountains many of which are 
well-loved and familiar friends. The most beautiful 
wild flowers have arranged themselves in gardens to 
please you, and out of the rocks leap sparkling wa- 
ters still more to refresh you. From the Forks of the 
Pigeon how many of these charming balds can be 
ascended by trails known only to the kindly natives, 
who will go with you if necessary or tell you the way 
where it is possible for you to go alone ! 
