plenty,—plenty of snow, plenty of wood to melt it, plenty of horse meat, plenty of dog meat if the worst comes." Notwithstanding this courageous spirit it was deemed best to send John M. Bacon and Wm. Barlow on foot into Foster's settlement for more supplies. Mr. Bacon had been an indispensable man all along the route, as he was a tailor by trade, and his needle was always busy on clothing or harness.
We started out with our scanty quota of coffee and four small biscuits. A dull chopping ax was the only tool that could be spared for our purposes. We knew the necessity of haste. With snow over everything but the poison laurel, our horses were forced to eat it and die, or to starve and die. Then came the thought of our families having to eat the flesh of poisoned horses, possibly to die from its effects; or, if they lived, to walk out over the snow and barely exist on scanty allowance. We therefore went down Laurel Hill like "shot off of a shovel," and in less time than two hours' we had to look back to see the snow. We soon struck the Big Sandy trail and our troubles were over. The only danger was in crossing the stream so many times. In many places we found drift or boulders for stepping stones, but at one place we had to chop down a big tree and take the chance on its falling on a small rock in the middle of the turbulent water. The chance was lost, for the tree broke as it fell and washed away. We then concluded to prepare a good supper of coffee and biscuits. But poor John drew a long breath and said, "Will, I'm sorry and ashamed to tell you that I lost those four biscuits in the stream. I slipped and fell in stepping on a boulder, and away went the bread and I could not catch it." I never really suspected that John ate them, but for fun replied, "I thought it would be hard to catch anything on its way to a hungry man's breadbasket."
