It was evident the brakes must be tightened if we were to reach the bottom of the canyon alive. Neither Toby nor I knew how to tighten brakes, except that in the process one got under the car. Accordingly, as diagnostician, I crawled beneath, and in a few moments found a nut which looked as if it connected with the brake, while Toby, who is exceedingly clever with tools, and something of a contortionist, managed to tighten it. We tried the foot brakes. They held! Never had we known a prouder moment. The incident gave us courage to meet new contingencies, and never again did I experience just that sick feeling of helplessness of a moment before. While Toby was still beneath the wheels, a horn sounded, and another machine climbed around the bend. Miss Susan flagged it with her sweater just in time. Two men emerged, rather startled at the encounter, and asked how they were to pass. As the ascending car, they had the right of way, and unlike the courteous mules, intended to keep it. I could not blame them for not wanting to back down hill,--neither did I. I could not tell whether my knees would ever be “practical” again. The road was little more than ten feet wide, and very crooked. I am usually good at backing, but sometimes I become confused, and turn the wrong way,--and I hated to spoil the view by backing into it. After some prospecting, we discovered a little cubby-hole at the third turn down. At the rate of an inch a minute we reached it. The chauffeur of the other car gave us valuable advice,--never to use our foot brake on mountains, but instead to shut off ignition, shift to first gear, and if we still descended too fast, use the emergency brake at intervals. If the grade were so steep as to offset all these precautions (as actually happened later, on several occasions) the foot brake could be alternately pressed and released. With all the Rockies before us, this information gave us back the confidence which we had momentarily lost while we poised brakeless over the Gila. Before reaching home, we were to travel over many such roads, for we motored along the spine of the Rockies from Mexico to Alberta, but never again did “horizontal fever” attack us virulently. This “fine state highway” from Winkleman to Globe proved as dangerous a road as we were to meet, and being the first encountered after the plains of Texas and the deserts of New Mexico, it especially terrified us. A month later we traversed it without a quiver.