us, in a large hunting party in Arkansas, got separated from the rest, and found ourselves in the back-water of the Mississippi River, which was many miles away. My companion was an old woodsman, and pretended to know his direction. He assured me "We will come out all right." He led on and on for hours, the water growing constantly deeper. I finally called to him and pointed to the water-mark on the trees as high as our heads as we sat on our horses. I said to him: "You are lost, now I am going to trust to my horse to lead me from danger." He insisted he knew the way, but followed. My horse was a sleepy old fellow, and I gave him a little cut with a whip to wake him up, then gave him a loose rein to go as he pleased. He wound around fallen trees and brush until he got his direction, then turning nearly at a right angle, struck a line like a surveyor, and in two hours we were upon dry land and in camp.
But to our story. They were safely in camp, by a roaring log fire, the deep cañon protecting them from the raging winds. As they discussed with thankful hearts the perils of the day, from which they had been rescued, they made plans for to-morrow, but here the guide spoke up and said, "I go back, I cannot take you over this mountain." General Lovejoy says, "Whitman talked and plead with the guide until a late hour, but
