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 storm broke about 3 o’clock in the morning, and all of the party except Hedges and myself were well drenched, as their only protection from the rain was their blankets.  An effort had been made by some of the party to kindle a fire under the shelter of a large standing tree, but with indifferent success.  Hedges and I crawled out of our dry blankets, and sat upright, so as to make as much room as possible for the others, and we welcomed all our comrades to our dry shelter.  General Washburn, who is suffering somewhat from a cold, was especially grateful for the protection from the storm, which continued until about 7 o’clock.  The roof of our wickiup had completely protected Hedges and myself from the rain except at one spot directly over Hedges’ exposed ear, where a displacement of the pine leaves allowed a small stream to trickle through the roof, filling his ear with water, much to his discomfort.

Some members of our party, at our early breakfast this morning, sitting upon logs at various distances from our camp fire in their half-dried clothing, and eating their scanty meal in silence, presented a sorry appearance.  Some are disappointed that we did not, last night, reach the Firehole river, or some large branch of the Madison, which may guide us homeward, and are wondering if we are moving in the right direction.  I feel so perfectly confident that we are traveling the right course that I am in the best of spirits.  It may be that my cheerfulness is owing, in some degree, to my having dry clothing and a dry skin, which few of my comrades have, but I see no reason for discouragement.  I think that Mr. Hauser is the best and most accurate judge of distances, of heights of mountains, and direction of travel, of any man I know, and he does not doubt that we are moving in the right direction.  It is a satisfaction to have my opinion confirmed by his judgment.

[Illustration:  Nathaniel P. Langford]

We had just finished our breakfast a half hour ago when something—­some wild animal, or, perhaps, a snake—­moving in the brush near where our horses were picketed, frightened three of them, and in their violent plunging they pulled up the iron picket pins attached to their lariats, and dashed at a gallop directly through our camp, over the campfire, and upsetting and scattering hither and thither our cooking utensils.  The iron picket pins flying through the air at the lariat ends narrowly missed several of our party, but became entangled with the only two sound pack saddles remaining of the entire number with which we started, and dashed them against the adjacent trees, tearing off the side pieces of