You back up to that mountain mahogany bush, slip under it, and worm down through the rocks till you come to a little scrub-oak tree and a big granite bowlder.

They'll give you shelter to cross the ridge into a deep ravine that leads here where I am.

You'll be out of sight all the way up once you hit the ravine.

I'd--I'd worm along pretty spry if I was you, going down as far as the scrub oak--say, about as swift as a rattlesnake strikes--and pray any little prayers you happen to remember.

And say, Pringle, before you go ...