range of the Rocky Mountains. The fact that the Snake river
valley is so readily accessible from Yellowstone lake, gives me hope
to-night that Mr. Everts may have made his way out of the forest to some
settlement in the Snake river valley.

There is still four or five inches of snow on the ground, but there is
plenty of long grass under it, and our horses are faring tolerably well,
and will soon fill themselves with either grass or snow. There is no
clear space large enough for us to pitch our tent. We have had our
supper--an indifferent and scanty meal--and each man is now seeking with
varied success a dry spot beneath the sheltering branches of the pines
whereon to spread his blankets.

Some of our party seem terribly fatigued, and others mentally depressed.
The question of our present locality is still unsolved in their minds,
and has been intensified by the discussions in camp to-night as to
whether or not the large lake we saw discharges its waters into the
Snake river, and they ask: "If it does so, have we re-crossed the main
range to the eastern slope?" For myself I do not know of any day since
we left home when I have been in better spirits. I am sure we are on the
right course and feel no anxiety.

The sky to-night is clear and cloudless, but the snow is melting fast,
and there is a peculiar odor in the air that gives assurance of rain
before morning. Hedges (my bed fellow) and I have selected our sleeping
place, and I have placed over it a ridge-pole, supported by branches of
a tree, and have erected a "wickiup" of green pine boughs overlapping
like a thatched roof, which will turn off the rain if it comes, and I
have advised the others of our party to make similar preparations for a
rain. Hedges says that he feels worried and very much discouraged.

Sunday, September 18, 8 o'clock a.m.--There occurred a half hour ago the
first serious mishap affecting the welfare of the entire party; and
while the packers, Bean and Reynolds, are repairing the damage resulting
therefrom, I will go back a few hours and chronicle in the order of
their occurrence the events of the early morning.

Mr. Hedges and I, sleeping securely under the sheltering roof of our
pine-thatched wickiup, were aroused from our sweet dreams of home about
4 o'clock this morning by several members of our party, who sought
shelter from the rain which came down abundantly, or, as a Westmoreland
deacon used to say, "in cupious perfusion." The rain