ked dark and mysterious and extra-competent over the most trivial of
difficulties.

Nothing could be more instructive than to see two or three of these
imitation bad men starting out in the morning to "guide" a flock, say
to Nevada Falls. The tourists, being about to mount, have outdone
themselves in weird and awesome clothes--especially the women. Nine
out of ten wear their stirrups too short, so their knees are hunched
up. One guide rides at the head--great deal of silver spur, clanking
chain, and the rest of it. Another rides in the rear. The third rides
up and down the line, very gruff, very preoccupied, very careworn over
the dangers of the way. The cavalcade moves. It proceeds for about a
mile. There arise sudden cries, great but subdued excitement. The
leader stops, raising a commanding hand. Guide number three gallops
up. There is a consultation. The cinch-strap of the brindle shave-tail
is taken up two inches. A catastrophe has been averted. The noble
three look volumes of relief. The cavalcade moves again.

Now the trail rises. It is a nice, safe, easy trail. But to the
tourists it is made terrible. The noble three see to that. They pass
more dangers by the exercise of superhuman skill than you or I could
discover in a summer's close search. The joke of the matter is that
those forty-odd saddle-animals have been over that trail so many times
that one would have difficulty in heading them off from it once they
got started.

Very much the same criticism would hold as to the popular notion of the
Yosemite stage-drivers. They drive well, and seem efficient men. But
their wonderful reputation would have to be upheld on rougher roads
than those into the Valley. The tourist is, of course, encouraged to
believe that he is doing the hair-breadth escape; but in reality, as
mountain travel goes, the Yosemite stage-road is very mild.

This that I have been saying is not by way of depreciation. But it
seems to me that the Valley is wonderful enough to stand by itself in
men's appreciation without the unreality of sickly sentimentalism in
regard to imaginary dangers, or the histrionics of playing wilderness
where no wilderness exists.

As we went out, this time by the Chinquapin wagon-road, we met one
stage-load after another of tourists coming in. They had not yet
donned the outlandish attire they believe proper to the occasion, and
so showed for what they were,--prosperous, well-bred, well-dressed