All the morning, as we loafed along, having a good time, other pedestrians went staving by us with vigorous strides, and with the intent and determined look of men who were walking for a wager.  These wore loose knee-breeches, long yarn stockings, and hobnailed high-laced walking-shoes.  They were gentlemen who would go home to England or Germany and tell how many miles they had beaten the guide-book every day.  But I doubted if they ever had much real fun, outside of the mere magnificent exhilaration of the tramp through the green valleys and the breezy heights; for they were almost always alone, and even the finest scenery loses incalculably when there is no one to enjoy it with.

All the morning an endless double procession of mule-mounted tourists filed past us along the narrow path—­the one procession going, the other coming.  We had taken a good deal of trouble to teach ourselves the kindly German custom of saluting all strangers with doffed hat, and we resolutely clung to it, that morning, although it kept us bareheaded most of the time and was not always responded to.  Still we found an interest in the thing, because we naturally liked to know who were English and Americans among the passers-by.  All continental natives responded of course; so did some of the English and Americans, but, as a general thing, these two races gave no sign.  Whenever a man or a woman showed us cold neglect, we spoke up confidently in our own tongue and asked for such information as we happened to need, and we always got a reply in the same language.  The English and American folk are not less kindly than other races, they are only more reserved, and that comes of habit and education.  In one dreary, rocky waste, away above the line of vegetation, we met a procession of twenty-five mounted young men, all from America.  We got answering bows enough from these, of course, for they were of an age to learn to do in Rome as Rome does, without much effort.

At one extremity of this patch of desolation, overhung by bare and forbidding crags which husbanded drifts of everlasting snow in their shaded cavities, was a small stretch of thin and discouraged grass, and a man and a family of pigs were actually living here in some shanties.  Consequently this place could be really reckoned as “property”; it had a money value, and was doubtless taxed.  I think it must have marked the limit of real estate in this world.  It would be hard to set a money value upon any piece of earth that lies between that spot and the empty realm of space.  That man may claim the distinction of owning the end of the world, for if there is any definite end to the world he has certainly found it.