unch,
too.

The rain made traveling worse, and worse waxed the old road.

"I vow!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, as his small horse staggered and almost
fell on a steep, slippery place. "This is as bad as storming the City
of Mexico. How do you like it, Grigsby?"

"I thought I'd seen bad trails, on some of my overland trips with
Fremont, but this beats them all."

Several times dead mules, perhaps with their necks broken, were passed;
and frequently were passed trunks and other baggage, thrown aside, all
of which showed that this trail of the old fortune-hunters was now the
trail of the new fortune-hunters, also, bound for California.

"We must be on top of the range," presently remarked Mr. Grigsby.
"Feels like it, anyhow."

Scarcely had he spoken, when on a sudden the trail emerged from the
forest, to creep along the face of another precipice. The path was
only a ledge jutting out not more than three feet from the solid wall
hung with vines; at the edge was a sheer drop of thousands of feet--or
maybe not more than 2000, but to Charley, whose left foot hung over the
drop, it looked like 20,000.

The horses trod gingerly, with ears pricked, carefully avoiding
scraping the wall lest they be forced over. This was wise, but not
pleasant for the riders. Behind, the bullocks snorted. Gazing off,
Charley saw what might have been a whole world spread beneath him:
league after league of rolling, misty green, where the jungle was
dwarfed by distance so that it looked like a lawn! Above it circled
and circled huge vultures; and although these were high in the air, he
and his party were higher yet!

"I smell salt water!" exclaimed Mr. Grigsby. "We're at the Pacific
slope!"

Charley sniffed; he heard his father sniffing; but he must admit that
Mr. Grigsby's nose was better than theirs. Now the trail entered
another jungly forest, and it certainly led down instead of up, as if
indeed they had crossed the divide. Hurrah!

However, the journey was not done, by any means. The road grew worse
still, as if the rain here had been harder. Making a misstep, down
slipped Charley's horse from the trail, over the edge of a clay bank,
and landed on his side twenty feet below. Charley sprawled on his face
in mud and rotted branches.

[Illustration: Down slipped Charley's horse from the trail]

"Hurt?" called his father.

"No, sir," answered Charley, grabbing the lines; and pulling his horse
along, he struggled to the trail