In a cup of these hills, yet so high it was itself on a mountain, the road forked sharply, each branch leading straight up a mountain, and each seeming well-nigh unconquerable. Below lay a little mining settlement of half a dozen cabins. At the juncture a sign-board bore the name of the town toward which we were traveling. It was an excellent sign-board, plainly marked. Its only draw-back was that it pointed midway between the two roads, quite impartially. Toby was for taking the right fork, I for the left. We argued hotly but finally Toby won, and we took the right-hand road. Soon the mining camp dropped several hundred feet below, and then became a dot. Ahead, the road circled in a twenty-mile horse-shoe on the inside of a mountain range, seeming to lead miles into the wilderness. I announced that Toby was mistaken. “The Mormon said to take the right turn,” said Toby, standing to her guns. “And we’ve taken half a dozen right turns since then,” I answered. Now the problem facing us was: To turn a heavy car with a 122 inch wheel-base around on a steep twelve-foot road with a mountain slope on one side and on the other, sheer precipice. Often in nightmares of late I had found myself compelled to drive down Bright Angel Trail at the Grand Canyon, turn at Jacob’s Ladder, and ascend,--and the present reality was hardly less terrifying. It turned out later that Toby was right, as she always was when she should have been wrong,--and we could have been spared our acrobatics. But we should have missed Mr. Kelly. We made the turn. I never want to try it again. A few inches forward, till a yawning gulf lay under our front wheels; then back till we hit a steep bank, then forward, down grade to the edge; brakes, reverse, and the fear of a plunge forward between release of brakes and the catch of the reverse gear. We made half a dozen maneuvers before we again faced the misleading sign-post. We passed the mining camp, drove up the left fork, and bumped against a mountain which refused to be climbed. “You see I was right,” said Toby smugly. Before she had finished, a man with a refulgent smile came running up, thrust into our hands a visiting card which he took from his wallet, and shaking our hands enthusiastically said, “Glad to see ye, gurrls. Kelly’s my name. What’s yourn? I’m boss of the mine here. Come on out, and stay to supper. Stay all night. Stay a week,--the b’ys will be tickled t’ death. You can have my room,--I’ll bunk wid the foreman. I’m f’rm Providence, Rhode Island. Been in the Legislat’ur twenty years. Been a horse jockey, an’ an inventor, an’ foreman of a factory. Makin’ my everlastin’ fortune in this mine just now, and no stock to sell. Where ’ye from?” “Boston, now! Well, say, ye’re a long ways fr’m home. Ye’ll have to stay, neighbors like that. We got a big fat cook, two hundred and fifty she weighs, and a crackerjack with the eats, and she says tell ye she’ll never speak to you agin if ye don’t stay to supper.”