fairly in the mouth of the pass, I got down and looked to the cinch, and
then rode boldly forward, like a soldier riding up to the cannon's mouth
with a smile on his face. Oh, I wasted plenty of admiration on one Ellis
Carleton about that time, and rehearsed the bold, biting speech I meant
to deliver at old King's very door.

So far it was easy sailing. There was a hard-beaten road, and the hills
seemed standing back and holding aside their skirts for a free passing.
The sun lay warm on their green slopes, and one could fairly smell the
grass growing. In the hollows were worlds of blue flowers, with patches
here and there a royal purple. I stopped and gathered a handful and stuck
them in my buttonhole and under my hatband. I don't know when I have felt
so thoroughly satisfied with said Ellis Carleton--of whom I am overfond of
speaking--I even mimicked the meadow-larks, until they watched me with
heads tilted, not knowing what to make of such an impertinent fellow.

King's Highway was glorious; I didn't wonder that dad thought it worth
fighting over, and as I went on, farther and farther down this lane made
by nature for easy passing, I could see what an immense advantage it would
be to take herds through that way. I could see why the Bay State men
cursed King when they took the rough trail around the end of White
Divide.

After an hour of undisputed riding on this forbidden trail, the pass
narrowed rather abruptly till it was not more than a furlong in width; the
hills stretched their heads still higher, as if they wanted to see the
fun, and the shadow of the eastern rim laid clear across the narrow valley
and touched the foot of the opposite slope. I hope I am not going to be
called nervous if I tell the truth about things; when I rode into the
shadow I stopped whistling a bad imitation of meadow-lark notes. A bit
farther and I pulled up, looked all around, and got off and tightened the
cinch a bit more. Shylock--I always rode him when I could--threw his head
around and nearly took a chunk out of my arm, and in reproving him I
forgot, for a minute, the ticklish game I was playing. Then I loosened my
gun--I had learned to carry it inconspicuously under my coat, as did the
other boys--made sure it could be pulled without embarrassing delay, and
went on. Around the next turn a five-wired fence stretched across the
trail, with a gate fastened by a chain and padlock. I whistled under my
breath, and eyed the lock with extr