a hat, and the wind and rain moaned over the bleak and lonesome
plains. They were far out in Nebraska, and, although they were near the
Platte River, it was one of the most thinly inhabited sections of the
state. They had not seen a light since leaving the last speaking-place
at sundown. Harley wondered at the courage of the pioneers who crossed
the great plains amid such a vast loneliness. He and the candidate were
tired, and soon ceased to talk. The driver confined his attention to his
business. Harley fell into a doze, from which he was awakened after a
while by the sudden stoppage of the carriage. The candidate awoke at the
same time. The rain had decreased, there was a partial moonlight, and
the driver was turning upon them a shamefaced countenance.

"What's the matter?" asked the candidate.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Grayson," replied the driver, in an
apologetic tone. "I've gone wrong somehow or other, and I don't know
just where we're at."

"Lost?" said Harley.

"If you wish to put it that way, I reckon you're right," said the
driver, with a touch of offence.

"What has become of the other carriages?" asked Harley, looking back for
them.

"I reckon they didn't see us when we turned out, and they kept on along
the road."

There was no doubt about the plight into which they had got themselves.
The plain seemed no less lonely than it was before the white man came.

"What's that line of trees across yonder?" asked the candidate.

"I guess it marks where the Platte runs," replied the driver.

"Then drive to it; if we follow the trees we must reach the bridge, and
then things will be simple."

The driver became more cheerful, the rain ceased and the moonlight
increased; but Harley lacked confidence. He had a deep distrust of the
Platte River. It seemed to him the most ridiculous stream in the United
States, making a presumptuous claim upon the map, and flowing often in a
channel a mile wide with only a foot of water. But he feared the marshes
and quicksands that bordered its shallow course.

They reached the line of gaunt trees, dripping with water and whipped by
the wind, and Harley's fears were justified. The river was there, but
they could not approach it, lest they be swallowed up in the sand, and
they turned back upon the prairie.

"We must find a house," said the candidate; "if it comes to the pinch we
can pass the night in the carriage, but I don't like to sleep sitting."

They bore away from