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LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
toes, and thought that at last the end had come. When the rush of water ceased, I felt rather than saw that we were scrambling up the opposite bank, and, opening my eyes, saw the dripping horses once more upon terra firma.
I am sorry to take leave of you in the fog and gloom of the forest, with night coming on. But the night of this day is coming also, and with it comes Tom, striding down our woodsy hill like a hardy Norseman, upon his shoulder his shining axe gleaming as did “Excalibur” of old. That he is ravenously hungry goes without saying. So I must lay aside my pen and prepare our evening meal.
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