But the snow confuses them.
More than once my mule slips dangerously, and I am debating within myself whether I should not be safer on foot, when I hear a cry in front.
"What is it ?" I ask Gondocori, for I cannot see past him.
"The guide is gone.

The _madrina_ slipped, and both have rolled down the precipice." "Shall we get off and walk ?" "If you like.

You will not be any safer, though you may feel so.

The mules are surer footed than we are, and they have four legs to our two.

I shall keep where I am." Not caring to show myself less courageous than the _cacique_, I also keep where I am.