“Enoch,” said the man, “there’s no danger at all, if you let your mule alone.  Don’t try to guide him.  He knows the trail perfectly.  All you have to do is to sit in the saddle and look up, not down!  Remember, up, not down!  I shall lead.  You follow, on Spoons.  Old Foolish Face brings up the rear with the pack.  Did you ever ride, before?”

“I never touched a horse in my life,” replied Nucky, trying to curb the chattering of his teeth.

“You had better mount and ride round the road here, for a bit.  Take the reins, so.  Stand facing the saddle, so.  Now put this foot in the stirrup, seize the pommel, and swing the other leg over as you spring.  That’s the idea!”

Nucky was awkward, but he landed in the saddle and found the other stirrup, the mule standing fast as a mountain while he did so.  Spoons moved off at Allen’s bidding, and Nucky grasped at the pommel.  But only for a moment.

“Don’t he shake any worse than this?” he cried.

“No, but it’s not so easy to stay in the saddle when the grade’s steep.  Pull on your right rein, Enoch, and bring old Spoons in behind me.  Well done!  We’re off!  See the bunch on the hotel steps!  Guess you fooled ’em this time, New York!”

Half a dozen people, including the clerk were standing on the steps, watching the little cavalcade.  As the mules filed by, somebody began to clap.

“What’s the excitement, Frank?” demanded Nucky.

Frank turned in his saddle to smile at the boy.  “Out in this country we admire physical nerve because we need a lot of it.  And you’re showing a good quality, old chap.  Just sit easy now and when you want me to stop, yell.”

Nucky was sitting very straight with his thin chest up, and he managed to maintain this posture as the trail turned down over the rim.  Then he grasped the pommel in both hands.

It was a wonderful trail, carved with infinite patience and ingenuity out of the canyon wall.  To Allen it was as safe and easy as a flight of stairs.  Nucky, trembling in the saddle would have felt quite as comfortable standing on the topmost window ledge of the Flat Iron building, in New York.  And, to Nucky, there was no trail!  Only a narrow, corkscrew shelf, deep banked with snow into which the mules set their small feet gingerly.  For many minutes, the boy saw only this trackless ledge, and the sickening blue depths below.

“I can never stand it!” he muttered.  “I can never stand it!  If this mule makes just one mis-step, I’m dead.”  He felt a little nauseated.  “I can never stand it!  ’Twould have been better if I’d just let ’em tease me.  Hey, Frank!”

The guide looked back.  The red spots were gone from Nucky’s cheeks now.

“We got to go back!  I can’t get away with it!” cried the boy.