Keanae Valley, to Haleakala Ranch, July 21.
Mr. Von had us stirring by half-past six, after ten hours in bed. So soundly had we been sunk in “the little death in life,” that even a driven rain which soaked our dried riding togs, hanging on chairs in the middle of the room, failed to disturb. We had the novel sensation of shivering in a tropic vale, the while pulling on water-logged corduroy and khaki, even hats being soggy.
Our amiable host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Tripp, after serving a breakfast of wild bananas, boiled taro, poi, broiled jerked beef, and fresh milk, bade us Godspeed with tiaras and necklets of ginger-blossoms, and we fared from the mist-wreathed valley and up-trail on horses spurred with knowledge of this last stretch to home stables. The air was ineffably clear, as if from a cleansing bath, with light clouds in the sunny sky to rest the eyes.
More ditch trails and jungle of unwithering green, sparkling wet, and steaming rainbows in the slanting sun-gold of the morning; more and still more stupendous gulches, to make good Mr. Von’s overnight prophecy. And we traversed a succession of makeshift bridges that called for the best caution of the horses who knew every unstable inch. Jack, pacing behind on many-gaited Pontius Pilate, told me afterward that his heart was in his throat to see the slender spans give to the weight and swinging motion of my stout charger, who, never ceasing to fret at being withheld from the lead, pranced scandalously in the most unwise places.
At length we approached a promised “worst and last gulch,” a flood-eroded ravine of appalling beauty, down the pitch of which we slid with bated breath, to the reverberation of hurtling waters on every hand. Obeying Mr. Von’s serious behest, we gathered on the verge of a roaring torrent overflung by a mere excuse for a bridge, not more than four feet wide, about fifty feet long, and innocent of railing. To our left the main cataract sprayed us in its pounding fall to a ledge in the rocky defile where it crashed just under the silly bridge, thence bursting out in deafening thunder to its mightiest plunge seaward.
“Now, hurry and tell Von what you want,” Jack shouted in my ear above the din. And what I wanted was to be allowed to precede the others over this bridge;—oh, not in bravado, believe—quite the contrary. Fact was, I feared to trust the Welshman, justly intolerant of his enforced degradation to the ranks, not to make a headlong rush to overtake his rival, Mr. Von’s horse, should he lead; for a single rider at a time was to be permitted on the swaying structure.
Mr. Von appreciated and consented; and when the order of march was arranged, the Welshman proved his right to leadership; without hesitation, wise muzzle between his exact feet, sniffing, feeling each narrow plank of the unsteady way. It was an experience big with thought—carrying with it an intense sense of aloneness, aloofness from aid in event of disaster, trusting the vaunted human of me without reserve to the instinct and intelligence of a “lesser animal.” The blessed Welshman!—with chaos all about the insecure foothold, trembling but courageous, he won slowly step by step across the white destruction and struck his small fine hoofs into firm ground once more.
With brave, set face Harriet Thurston, who was little accustomed to horses, came next after Mr. Von, and her ambitious but foolhardy steed, midway of the passage, began jogging with eagerness to be at the end, setting up a swaying rhythm of the bridge that sent sick chills over the onlookers, and it was with immense relief we watched him regain solid earth. Pontius Pilate bore Jack sedately, followed by the little girls.
A conception may be gained of the scariness of this adventure through an incident related by Mr. Von. One of his cowboys, noted on Maui for his fearlessness, always first in the pen with a savage bull, and first on the wildest bucking bronco off range, absolutely balked at riding this final test of all our nerve: “I have a wife and family,” he expostulated; then led his horse across.[[7]]
Kaleinalu, Maui, July 23.