WE were now steering by compass. Our course was nearlynorth-west. This we kept, as well as the formation of thecountry and the watercourses would permit. After strikingthe great Shoshone, or Snake River, which eventually becomesthe Columbia, we had to follow its banks in a southerlydirection. These are often supported by basaltic columnsseveral hundred feet in height. Where that was the case,though close to water, we suffered most from want of it. Andcold as were the nights - it was the middle of September -the sun was intensely hot. Every day, every mile, we werehoping for a change - not merely for access to the water, butthat we might again pursue our westerly course. The scenerywas sometimes very striking. The river hereabouts variesfrom one hundred to nearly three hundred yards in width;sometimes rushing through narrow gorges, sometimes descendingin continuous rapids, sometimes spread out in smooth shallowreaches. It was for one of these that we were in search, foronly at such points was the river passable.

　　It was night-time when we came to one of the great falls. Wewere able here to get at water; and having halted through theday, on account of the heat, kept on while our animals wererefreshed. We had to ascend the banks again, and wind alongthe brink of the precipice. From this the view wasmagnificent. The moon shone brightly upon the dancing waveshundreds of feet below us, and upon the rapids which extendedas far as we could see. The deep shade of the high cliffscontrasted in its impenetrable darkness with the brilliancyof the silvery foam. The vast plain which we overlooked,fading in the soft light, rose gradually into a low range ofdistant hills. The incessant roar of the rapids, and thedesert stillness of all else around, though they lulled one'ssenses, yet awed one with a feeling of insignificance andimpotence in the presence of such ruthless force, amid suchserene and cold indifference. Unbidden, the consciousnesswas there, that for some of us the coming struggle with thosemighty waters was fraught with life or death.

　　At last we came upon a broad stretch of the river whichseemed to offer the possibilities we sought for. Rather latein the afternoon we decided to cross here, notwithstandingWilliam's strong reluctance to make the venture. Part of hisunwillingness was, I knew, due to apprehension, part to hislove of fishing. Ever since we came down upon the SnakeRiver we had seen quantities of salmon. He persisted in thebelief that they were to be caught with the rod. The daybefore, all three of us had waded into the river, and floggedit patiently for a couple of hours, while heavy fish weretumbling about above and below us. We caught plenty oftrout, but never pricked a salmon. Here the broad reach wasalive with them, and William begged hard to stop for theafternoon and pursue the gentle sport. It was not to be.

　　The tactics were as usual. Samson led the way, holding thelariat to which the two spare horses were attached. Incrossing streams the mules would always follow the horses.

　　They were accordingly let loose, and left to do so. Williamand I brought up the rear, driving before us any mule thatlagged. My journal records the sequel:

　　'At about equal distances from each other and the main landwere two small islands. The first of these we reachedwithout trouble. The second was also gained; but the packswere wetted, the current being exceedingly rapid. The spaceremaining to be forded was at least two hundred yards; andthe stream so strong that I was obliged to turn my mare'shead up it to prevent her being carried off her legs. Whilethus resting, William with difficulty, - the water being overhis knees, - sidled up to me. He wanted to know if I stillmeant to cross. For all answer, I laughed at him. In truthI had not the smallest misgiving. Strong as was the current,the smooth rocky bottom gave a good foothold to the animals;and, judging by the great width of the river, there was noreason to suppose that its shallowness would not continue.

　　'We paused for a few minutes to observe Samson, who was nowwithin forty or fifty yards of the opposite bank; and, as Iconcluded, past all danger. Suddenly, to the astonishment ofboth of us, he and his horse and the led animals disappearedunder water; the next instant they were struggling andswimming for the bank. Tied together as they were, there wasa deal of snorting and plunging; and Samson (with hishabitual ingenuity) had fastened the lariat either to himselfor his saddle; so that he was several times dragged underbefore they all got to the bank in safety.

　　'These events were watched by William with intense anxiety.

　　With a pitiable look of terror he assured me he could notswim a yard; it was useless for him to try to cross; he wouldturn back, and find his way to Salt Lake City.

　　'"But," I remonstrated, "if you turn back, you will certainlystarve; everything we possess is over there with the mules;your blanket, even your rifle, are with the packs. It isimpossible to get the mules back again. Give little Creamher head, sit still in your saddle, and she'll carry youthrough that bit of deep water with ease."'"I can live by fishing," he plaintively answered. He stillheld his long rod, and the incongruity of it added to thepathos of his despair. I reminded him of a bad river we hadbefore crossed, and how his mule had swum it safely with himon her back. I promised to keep close to him, and help himif need were, though I was confident if he left everything toCream there would be no danger. "Well, if he must, he must.

　　But, if anything happened to him, would I write and tellMary? I knew her address; leastways, if I didn't, it was inhis bag on the brown mule. And tell her I done my best."'The water was so clear one could see every crack in the rockbeneath. Fortunately, I took the precaution to strip to myshirt; fastened everything, even my socks, to the saddle;then advanced cautiously ahead of William to the brink of thechasm. We were, in fact, upon the edge of a precipice. Onecould see to an inch where the gulf began. As my marestepped into it I slipped off my saddle; when she rose I laidhold of her tail, and in two or three minutes should havebeen safe ashore.

　　'Looking back to see how it had fared with William, I at onceperceived his danger. He had clasped his mule tightly roundthe neck with his arms, and round the body with his longlegs. She was plunging violently to get rid of her load.

　　Already the pair were forty or fifty yards below me.

　　Instantly I turned and swam to his assistance. The strugglesof the mule rendered it dangerous to get at him. When I didso he was partially dazed; his hold was relaxed. Dragginghim away from the hoofs of the animal, I begged him to puthis hands on my shoulders or hips. He was past any effort ofthe kind. I do not think he heard me even. He seemed hardlyconscious of anyth............