We worked our way through it, lost to each other and
to the world. Wilderness snows had turned the small streams to roaring
rivers and spread them over flats through which we floundered. So long
was it since the trail had been used that it was often difficult to tell
where it took off from the other side of the stream. And our horses were
growing very weary. They had made the entire trip without grain and with
such bits of pasture as they could pick up in the mountains. Now it was
a long time since they had had even grass.
It will never be possible to know how many miles we covered in that
Cascade Pass trip. As Mr. Hilligoss said, mountain miles were measured
with a coonskin, and they threw in the tail. Often to make a mile's
advance we traveled four on the mountain-side.
So when they tell me that it was a trifle of sixteen miles from the top
of Cascade Pass to the camp-site we made that night, I know that it was
nearer thirty. In point of difficulties, it was a thousand.
Yet the last part of the trip, had we not been too weary to enjoy it,
was superbly beautiful.
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