"Have to go around," decided Jack, who had dismounted and was surveying the break in the road.
"That means going back three miles at least," grumbled Pete. "Consarn the luck."
"Well, we can't go ahead."
"There's no such word as can't when you've gotter, son," rejoined Pete, gazing about him, while Maud philosophically cropped some patch grass that grew on the steep side of the trail.
"Let's see," mused Pete. "No, there wouldn't be no sense in trying to climb around it. Even this one-eared jackrabbit couldn't make it. Could you, Maud?"
The one ear shook vigorously.
"No, she's made up her mind she couldn't, and that ends it. Marry an old maid, argue with a school teacher, reason with a rattlesnake, but never try to persuade a mule of the error of her ways," said Pete solemnly.
"There's that old dead tree up there," said Jack suddenly, pointing to the steep shaly bank, where a big dead pine lay precariously balanced where the last washout that had destroyed the trail had left it.
"Well, what of it?"
"Why, it's long enough to bridge the gap and broad enough for Maud to get across on if we lead her."