such force as to nearly upset the buggy. Dark clouds gathered and
floated around those silent peaks of ages. Lightning darted hither and
thither among the stalwart pines, which were creaking, bending and
crashing. Clap after clap of thunder pealed through and from those
dismal canyons, vibrating between Nature's slopes of granite, quartz
and rock. The din was fearful, rain fell at first, then turned to
snow. Just before it became dark I adjusted the front piece of the
buggy. My compass was useless. I urged my faithful steeds to faster
speed, and at the same time gave them the rein. As I did so, they left
the trail. Cold and chilled to the marrow or very bone, I took
frequent drafts from the commissary bottle, and fought with all my
power against sleep, but it was useless.

On gaining partial consciousness two squaws were bending over me
rubbing me with all their Indian strength and a third forcing
something warm down my throat. Men, rough of dress, were smoking and
playing cards. Revolvers, chips and gold was in front of each, with
plenty of the latter in the center of the table. I knew not if they
were friends or mountain highwaymen. Many claim that horses are dumb
brutes with no instinct, but that faithful pair on leaving the trail
avoided a long bend and made straight for the adobe stage ranch,
sixteen miles away. On reaching it, they ran the buggy-pole through
the only opening of that mud shack rousing the inmates to action and
bringing me to safety.

The large Concord coach filled with passengers soon arrived from
Denver, and owing to the severity of the storm, put up for the night.
The time was passed in smoking, drinking and playing cards. At six
o'clock the next morning the coach pulled up at the door. The storm
was over, but not the wind. The cold was intense. My team soon came
up, but their ears and noses were badly frost bitten and otherwise
showed the effects of the storm. I followed the coach but for a short
distance only, as the snow which was drifting badly obliterated the
trail. The six black horses on the coach were too much for my two bays
and soon left me far in the rear. My compass had been lost and by
noon I was back at the ranch I had previously left, the horses having
made nearly a complete circle without my knowledge. I secured another
compass and at nine o'clock that evening rolled into La Port, a city
of adobe ranches, and stage station, where I put up for the night. (A
place of two or three