Only the instinct that makes a real mountain and forest guide could enable one successfully to navigate these overgrown wilds, for we were now wandering up a region where trails had been abandoned for years.

Here and there, when we came to the rocky slopes "ducks"[2] in confusing variety were found but scarce a sign of a trail, and the "blazes" on the trees were more confusing than if we had been left to our own devices.
Yellow jackets' nests hung from many branches, and we were now and then pestered by the flying creatures themselves.

Then we had a good laugh.

Our pack-horse, Shoshone, got between two trees.

His head could pass but his pack couldn't, and there he stood struggling to pull through.