Then again we picked our dangerous road over cobbles and small stones that rolled away under our horses' feet and bumped off over the precipice nearby.

Our horses fatigued easily in passing this moraine that had been strewn by ancient glaciers along the mountain sides.

Sometimes the trail led right along the edge of the precipices where the horses started great slides of stones and sand.

I remember one whole mountain covered with these moving sands.

We had to leave our saddles and, taking the bridles in our hands, to trot for a mile or more over these sliding beds, sometimes sinking in up to our knees and going down the mountain side with them toward the precipices below.