villainous locality already.”  Finally, we reached the camp.  But as we brought no provisions with us, the first subject that presented itself to us was, how to get back.  John swore he wouldn’t walk back, so we rolled a drift log apiece into the Lake, and set about making paddles, intending to straddle the logs and paddle ourselves back home sometime or other.  But the Lake objected—­got stormy, and we had to give it up.  So we set out for the only house on this side of the Lake—­three miles from there, down the shore.  We found the way without any trouble, reached there before sundown, played three games of cribbage, borrowed a dug-out and pulled back six miles to the upper camp.  As we had eaten nothing since sunrise, we did not waste time in cooking our supper or in eating it, either.  After supper we got out our pipes—­built a rousing camp fire in the open air-established a faro bank (an institution of this country,) on our huge flat granite dining table, and bet white beans till one o’clock, when John went to bed.  We were up before the sun the next morning, went out on the Lake and caught a fine trout for breakfast.  But unfortunately, I spoilt part of the breakfast.  We had coffee and tea boiling on the fire, in coffee-pots and fearing they might not be strong enough, I added more ground coffee, and more tea, but—­you know mistakes will happen.—­I put the tea in the coffee-pot, and the coffee in the teapot—­and if you imagine that they were not villainous mixtures, just try the effect once.

And so Bella is to be married on the 1st of Oct.  Well, I send her and her husband my very best wishes, and—­I may not be here—­but wherever I am on that night, we’ll have a rousing camp-fire and a jollification in honor of the event.

In a day or two we shall probably go to the Lake and build another cabin and fence, and get everything into satisfactory trim before our trip to Esmeralda about the first of November.

What has become of Sam Bowen?  I would give my last shirt to have him out here.  I will make no promises, but I believe if John would give him a thousand dollars and send him out here he would not regret it.  He might possibly do very well here, but he could do little without capital.

Remember me to all my St. Louis and Keokuk friends, and tell Challie and Hallie Renson that I heard a military band play “What are the Wild Waves Saying?” the other night, and it reminded me very forcibly of them.  It brought Ella Creel and Belle across the Desert too in an instant, for they sang the song in Orion’s yard the first time I ever heard it.  It was like meeting an old friend.  I tell you I could have swallowed that whole band, trombone and all, if such a compliment would have been any gratification to them. 
                         Love to the young folks,
          
                                        Sam.