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just as a horse was passing them； they had little fluttering panics that
called the beast's attention。 Most of the remainder tried to be bold and
help。 They reached out the hand of assistance toward the halter rope；
the astonished animal promptly snorted； tried to turn around； cannoned
against the next in line。 Then there was a mix…up。 Two tall clean…cut
well…bred looking girls of our slim patrician type offered us material
assistance。 They seemed to understand horses； and got out of the way in
the proper manner； did just the right thing； and made sensible suggestions。
I offer them my homage。
They spoke to us as though they had penetrated the disguise of long
travel； and could see we were not necessarily members of Burt Alvord's
gang。 This phase too of our descent became increasingly interesting to
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us； a species of gauge by which we measured the perceptions of those we
encountered。 Most did not speak to us at all。 Others responded to our
greetings with a reserve in which was more than a tinge of distrust。 Still
others patronized us。 A very few overlooked our faded flannel shirts； our
soiled trousers； our floppy old hats with their rattlesnake bands； the wear
and tear of our equipment； to respond to us heartily。 Them in return we
generally perceived to belong to our totem。
We found the floor of the Valley well sprinkled with campers。 They
had pitched all kinds of tents； built all kinds of fancy permanent
conveniences； erected all kinds of banners and signs advertising their
identity； and were generally having a nice； easy； healthful； jolly kind of a
time up there in the mountains。 Their outfits they had either brought in
with their own wagons； or had had freighted。 The store near the bend of
the Merced supplied all their needs。 It was truly a pleasant sight to see so
many people enjoying themselves； for they were mostly those in moderate
circumstances to whom a trip on tourist lines would be impossible。 We
saw bakers' and grocers' and butchers' wagons that had been pressed into
service。 A man； his wife； and little baby had come in an ordinary buggy；
the one horse of which； led by the man； carried the woman and baby to the
various points of interest。
We reported to the official in charge； were allotted a camping and
grazing place； and proceeded to make ourselves at home。
During the next two days we rode comfortably here and there and
looked at things。 The things could not be spoiled； but their effect was
very materially marred by the swarms of tourists。 Sometimes they were
silly； and cracked inane and obvious jokes in ridicule of the grandest
objects they had come so far to see； sometimes they were detestable and
left their insignificant calling…cards or their unimportant names where
nobody could ever have any object in reading them； sometimes they were
pathetic and helpless and had to have assistance； sometimes they were
amusing； hardly ever did they seem entirely human。 I wonder what there
is about the traveling public that seems so to set it apart； to make of it at
least a sub…species of mankind？
Among other things； we were vastly interested in the guides。 They
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were typical of this sort of thing。 Each morning one of these men took a
pleasantly awe…stricken band of tourists out； led them around in the brush
awhile； and brought them back in time for lunch。 They wore broad hats
and leather bands and exotic raiment and fierce expressions； and looked
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 clothesespecially the women。 Nine
out of ten wear their stirrups too short； so their knees are hunched up。
One guide rides at the headgreat 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
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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 travelers。 In
contrast to their smartness； the brilliancy of new…painted stages； the dash
of the horses maintained by the Yosemite Stage Company； our own dusty
travel…worn outfit of mountain ponies； our own rough clothes patched and
faded； our sheath…knives and firearms seemed out of place and curious； as
though a knight in medieval armor were to ride down Broadway。
I do not know how many stages there were。 We turned our pack…
horses out for them all； dashing back and forth along the line； coercing the
diabolical Dinkey。 The road was too smooth。 There were no
obstructions to surmount； no dangers to avert； no difficulties to avoid。
We could not get into trouble； but proceeded as on a county turnpike。
Too tame； too civilized； too representative of the tourist element； it ended
by getting on our nerves。 The wilderness seemed to have left us forever。
Never would we get back to our own again。 After a long time Wes；
leading； turned into our old trail branching off to the high country。
Hardly had we traveled a half mile before we heard from the advance
guard a crash and a shout。
〃What is it； Wes？〃 we yelled。
In a moment the reply came；
〃Lily's fallen down again；thank God！〃
We understood what he meant。 By this we knew that the tourist zone
was crossed； that we had left the show country； and were once more in the
open。