It was necessary to take the only guide I had and to
go straight upwards wherever the line of greatest inclination seemed
to lie, for that at least would take me to a summit and probably to a
view of the valley; whereas if I tried to make for the shoulder of the
hill (which had been my first intention) I might have wandered about
till nightfall.
It was an old man in a valley called the Curicante in Colorado that
taught me this, if one lost one's way going _upwards_ to make at once
along the steepest line, but if one lost it going _downwards_, to
listen for water and reach it and follow it. I wish I had space to
tell all about this old man, who gave me hospitality out there. He was
from New England and was lonely, and had brought out at great expense
a musical box to cheer him. Of this he was very proud, and though it
only played four silly hymn tunes, yet, as he and I listened to it,
heavy tears came into his eyes and light tears into mine, because
these tunes reminded him of his home. But I have no time to do more
than mention him, and must return to my forest.
I climbed, then, over slippery pine needles and under the charged air
of those trees, which was full of dim, slanting light from the
afternoon sun, till, nearly at the summit, I came upon a clearing
which I at once recognized as a military road, leading to what we used
to call a 'false battery', that is, a dug-out with embrasures into
which guns could be placed but in which no guns were.
