Our host turned to us with a smile. "She's a good old snow-boat, isn't she?" he said. With great solemnity my companion and I admitted that she was. Even the Denver gentleman who occupied the tonneau with us, seemed somewhat shaken. "Of course the snow will be worse farther up," he said to our host. "Do you think it is worth going on?" "Of course it is," our host replied. "I want these boys to see the main range of the Rockies. That's what we came up for, isn't it?" "Yes," said my companion, "but we wouldn't want you to spoil your car on our account." It was an unfortunate remark. "Spoil her!" cried our host. "Spoil this machine? You don't know her. You haven't seen what she can do, yet. Just wait until we hit a real drift!" The cigar which I had been smoking when I left Denver was still in my mouth. It had gone out long since, but I had been too much engrossed with other things to notice it. Instead of relighting it, I had been turning it over and over between my teeth, and now in an emotional moment, I chewed at it so hard that it sagged down against my chin. I removed it from my mouth, and tossed it over the edge. It cleared the road and sailed out into space, down, down, down, turning over and over in the air, as it went. And as I watched its evolutions, my blood chilled, for I thought to myself that the body of a falling man would turn in just that way--that my body would be performing similar aerial evolutions, should our car slew off the road in the course of some mad charge against a drift. I was by this time very definitely aware that I had my fill of winter motoring in the mountains. The mere reluctance I had felt as we began to climb had now developed into a passionate desire to desist. I am no great pedestrian. Under ordinary circumstances the idea of climbing a mountain on foot would never occur to me. But now, since I could not turn back, since I must go to the top to satisfy my host, I fairly yearned to walk there. Indeed, I would have gladly crawled there on my hands and knees, through snowdrifts, rather than to have proceeded farther in that touring car. Obviously, however, craft was necessary. "I believe I'll get out and limber up a little," I said, rising from my seat. My companions of the tonneau seemed to be of the same mind. All three of us alighted in the snow. "How far is it to the top?" I asked our host. "A couple of miles," he said. "Is that all?" I replied. "Couldn't we walk it, then?" I was touched by the avidity with which my two companions seized on the suggestion. Only our host objected. "What's the matter?" he demanded in an injured tone. "Don't you think my car can make it? If you'll just get in again you'll soon see!" "Heavens, no!" I answered. "That's not it. Of course we _know_ your car can do it." "Yes; oh, yes, of course!" the other two chimed in. "All I was thinking of," I added, "was the exercise."