I made Shylock walk the next half-mile, with some notion of saving his wind for an emergency run.
Of a sudden I rounded a sharp nose of hill and came plump on the palace of the King.

It looked a good deal like the Bay State Ranch--big corrals and sheds and stables, and little place for man to dwell.

The house, though, was bigger than ours, and looked more comfortable to live in.

And the thing that struck me most was the head which King displayed for strategy.
The trail wound between those same sheds and corrals, a gantlet two hundred yards long that one must run or turn back.

On either side the bluffs rose sheer, with the buildings crowding close against their base.
I didn't wonder Frosty called King's Highway "bad medicine." It certainly did look like it.
I went softly along that trail, turning sharp corners around a shed here, circling a corral there, with my hand within an inch of my gun, and my heart within an inch of my teeth, and you may laugh all you like.
No one seemed to be about; the sheds were deserted, and a few horses dozed in a corral that I passed; but human being I saw none.