om of the river. There was nothing to do but simply to "grin and
bear it," and I did so with the best possible grace. On an exploring
expedition one day I found a tall tree on the bank of the river at a
spot where the channel was contracted between narrow banks. I had no axe
and therefore set to work to burn it down, but it was a weary task. Day
after day I tended that fire, keeping in the shade to avoid the hot rays
of the sun, and after six weeks of waiting had the satisfaction of
seeing the tree spanning the river, and affording me a means of reaching
clothing. But I could not go to the settlements clothed like the Georgia
Major, minus the spurs. During the period of waiting for the tree to
fall, I had made a needle of bone and taking an empty flour sack
proceeded to manufacture a pair of legs which, with infinite pains, I
stitched to the waistband of my long lost trousers and added wooden pegs
to insure stability and strength to the flimsy ravelings. In order to
form a fair idea of my appearance, one must imagine a youth with a six
weeks' growth of hair and beard, a shirt that had to be taken off once a
week to wash, a black band around his waist, to which was stitched and
pegged parts of flour sacks. I say, imagine all this and you can form
some idea of a youth who, under ordinary circumstances, was rather proud
of his good looks. My brothers called me "Robinson Crusoe," and I
imagine the resemblance between the unlucky sailor, marooned on an
island, and a wretched young fellow marooned in the depths of the
Cascade mountains without clothing enough to hide his nakedness, was not
an inapt comparison.

However, I was now happy. A tree spanned the river and parts of flour
sacks covered my limbs, and I would go to Mr. Allen's place, sixty miles
below and get my clothing. Crossing the river, however, I discovered
that our horses, left in a prairie, had "skipped out." I knew they would
be caught at Mr. Allen's place, and the next day I started out. All the
dogs followed. They seemed to have an antipathy for my brothers, and,
try as they would, they could not make friends with them. Indeed, I have
observed through life that children and dogs have an affinity for me. I
started in the morning and made about 35 miles the first day, camping
and sleeping beside a fallen tree against which I kindled a big fire.
After a breakfast of cold bread and venison roasted on a stick, I
started on the final lap of my journey. About a mile