I examined with suspicion the red-bay horse that had been assigned to me.
"Is he gentle?" I asked of one of the gentlemen.
"Oh, I don't know. You can't take any one's word about a horse in Alaska. They call regular buckers 'gentle' up here. The only way to find out is to try them."
This was encouraging.
"Do you mean to tell me," said one of the other ladies, "that you don't know whether these horses have ever been ridden by women?"
"No, I do not know."
She sat down on the steps.
"Then there's no trail for me. I don't know how to ride nor to manage a horse."
After many moments of persuasion, we got her upon a mild-eyed horse, saddled with a cross-saddle. The other lady and myself had chosen side-saddles, despite the assurance of almost every man in Valdez that we could not get over the trail sitting a horse sidewise, without accident.
"Your skirt'll catch in the brush and pull you off," said one, cheerfully.