blames him for the delay, and for a time gives him only
half-feed to "teach him not to fool along." Generally the return horse
must also be a good snow horse, able to flounder and willing to make
his way through deep drifts. He may be thirsty on a warm day, but he
must go all the way home before having a drink. Often, in winter, he
is turned loose at night on some bleak height to go back over a lonely
trail, a task which he does not like. Horses, like most animals and
like man, are not at ease when alone. A fallen tree across the trail
or deepened snow sometimes makes the horse's return journey a hard
one. On rare occasions, cinch or bridle gets caught on a snag or
around his legs, and cripples him or entangles him so that he falls
a victim to the unpitying mountain lion or some other carnivorous
animal.

I have never met a return horse without stopping to watch it as
far as it could be seen. They always go along with such unconscious
confidence and quiet alertness that they are a delight to behold. Many
good days I have had in their company, and on more than one occasion
their alertness, skill, and strength have saved me either from injury
or from the clutches of that great white terror the snow-slide.

The February morning that I rode "Midget" out of Alma began what
proved to be by far the most delightful association that I have ever
had with a return horse, and one of the happiest experiences with
nature and a dumb animal that has ever come into my life.

I was in government experiment work as "State Snow Observer," and
wanted to make some observations on the summit peaks of the
"Twelve-Mile" and other ranges. Midget was to carry me far up the side
of these mountains to the summit of Hoosier Pass. A heavy snow had
fallen a few days before I started out. The wind had drifted most of
this out of the open and piled it deeply in the woods and gulches.
Midget galloped merrily away over the wind-swept ground. We came to
a gulch, I know not how deep, that was filled with snow, and here I
began to appreciate Midget. Across this gulch it was necessary for us
to go. The snow was so deep and so soft that I dismounted and put
on my snowshoes and started to lead Midget across. She followed
willingly. After a few steps, a flounder and a snort caused me to look
back, and all I could see of Midget was her two little ears wriggling
in the snow. When we reached the other side, Midget came out breathing
heavily, and at once shook h