9

Adam picked up a chuck of rock and gave it a toss. The result was appalling. Not only did the rock continue to bounce and slide down the mountainside, it also triggered other little slides at every point it touched. This was not stable earth; this was another landslide waiting to happen. There was no way we could walk across the rock-field without ending up beaten, bruised, or worse in the valley far, far below.

"Well, that's it then," I said after a minute of close inspection. "Can't go around it, can't get across it. Guess we have to go back."

"Oh, I don't know," said Al. "It looks OK from over here."

There he stood on the other side of the 20-foot gap where the road used to be, looking onward.

"Hey, how did you get over there? Who said you could even try to get over there?" I said with real alarm.

"Well, you didn't say I couldn't try. Anyway, it was easy. I just followed the deer tracks."

"Where? Show me!"

It was amazing. The path was in plain sight, but blended so well with the surrounding rubble that it was not immediately apparent. It was eight inches wide and I walked across it easily. No problem at all, unless you happened to trip or step off of it, then it would be the ride of your life as you slid into the valley below. Al was right about the road, too. It continued to swing around the head of the valley and was good for as far as I could see. Nate was standing beside me by then.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Let's go for it."

So, the Scouts lined up and made their way across the narrow deer-track at the head of the landslide. The first couple sauntered across like there was nothing to it. The middle bunch were much more careful and made sure to have a hand on a shrub or vine in case the earth gave way, and I found that their caution communicated itself to me. Halfway through the operation, Clay and I took up position and got a hand on the Scouts as they came across, ready to haul them to safety if the need arose. The final Scout to cross was obviously terrified. He swallowed frequently and was trembling, but Clay and I went out and met him. I could see him summon his courage for the 10-foot walk he is never likely to forget, and he made it OK. I was pleased and impressed at his bravery in the face of what was to him a terrifying challenge.

With a sigh of relief, we started again. The sky had grown quite dark by now, and occasional raindrops hinted at an approaching storm. As we came around the head of the valley, I could see that the Cimarron Range that we were walking along stretched down twenty miles to the southwest. I could also see that we were getting close to the pass that must lead over to Red Hills, and fervently hoped that there was a trail or road, because we were sure not going to be finding our own way up and over. The pass came closer and closer, and then I suddenly realized we were beyond it. Rats! It was not going to be easy after all. I was very disappointed, and suddenly very tired of walking. I began considering the wisdom of just setting up camp on this abandoned road and starting again in the morning. I was suddenly played out, and ready to stop. Curt came out of the line and walked back to me.

"Give me something to carry."

"Say what?"

"Give me some of your stuff to carry."

"I can carry my stuff," I said, a little miffed.

"Yeah, I know you can, but couldn't you go faster if you were carrying less?"