It was a beautiful day and we jogged along merrily.  We had lots of fun, and as we went a new way, there was much that was new to Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and myself, and it was all new to the rest.  Gavotte had told us where we should noon, and we reached the place shortly after twelve.  Mr. Stewart went to lift out the mess-box,—­but he had forgotten to put it in!  Oh, dear!  We were a disappointed lot.  I don’t think I was ever so hungry, but there was nothing for it but to grin and bear it.  It did me some good, though, to remember how a man misses his dinner.  The horses had to be fed, so we walked about while they were eating.  We went up a canon that had high cliffs on one side, and came to a place where, high up on the rock wall, in great black letters, was this legend:  “Dick fell off of this here clift and died.”  I should think there would be no question that any one who fell from that place on to the boulders below would die.

Soon we started again, and if not quite so jolly as we were before, at least we looked forward to our supper with a keen relish and the horses were urged faster than they otherwise would have been.  The beautiful snow is rather depressing, however, when there is snow everywhere.  The afternoon passed swiftly and the horses were becoming jaded.  At four o’clock it was almost dark.  We had been going up a deep canon and came upon an appalling sight.  There had been a snow-slide and the canon was half-filled with snow, rock, and broken trees.  The whole way was blocked, and what to do we didn’t know, for the horses could hardly be gotten along and we could not pass the snow-slide.  We were twenty-five miles from home, night was almost upon us, and we were almost starved.  But we were afraid to stay in that canon lest more snow should slide and bury us, so sadly we turned back to find as comfortable a place as we could to spend the night.  The prospects were very discouraging, and I am afraid we were all near tears, when suddenly there came upon the cold air a clear blast from a horn.  Mrs. Louderer cried, “Ach, der reveille!” Once I heard a lecturer tell of climbing the Matterhorn and the calls we heard brought his story to mind.  No music could have been so beautiful.  It soon became apparent that we were being signaled; so we drove in the direction of the sound and found ourselves going up a wide canon.  We had passed the mouth of it shortly before we had come to the slide.  Even the tired horses took new courage, and every few moments a sweet, clear call put new heart into us.  Soon we saw a light.  We had to drive very slowly and in places barely crept.  The bugler changed his notes and we knew he was wondering if we were coming, so Mr. Stewart helloed.  At once we had an answer, and after that we were steadily guided by the horn.  Many times we could not see the light, but we drove in the right direction because we could hear the horn.