bouchlng into the Snake. This is to be our last encounter with this tortuous, treacherous, and in every way terrible serpent, of whose presence we long ago had much more than enough.
"Three miles farther brought us to Burnt River,—a small, rapid, and crooked stream, with a sandy delta at its disproportionately extended mouth. Here the country changes its entire topography. The bold' and abrupt foot-hills are covered to their tops with an abundant coat of seed-bearing bunchgrass; and numerous juniper-trees which somehow in the long ago gained a footing among the sloping shale and sand, lend a peculiar beauty to the
scene."
"Mr. Burns, I 'm going to die before long."
These were the words of little Bobbie, the darling of the family and of the entire company, and were €poken to Scotty on that memorable day in the Black Hills when preparations were in progress for the burial of his mother.
The blow came suddenly. The child had been overjoyed at the prospect of reaching the end of the journey at an early day. The sight of Burnt River filled him with pleasing anticipations. He was never more playful, quaint, and original than when his father stood him on his shoulder to view the last they should see of the Snake River.
Where is it going now, papa?" he asked artlessly.
Is it always hungry? Is that what makes it in such a hurry? What does it eat? And where does it sleep onights? It's a sure enough snake, isn't it?"
At midnight, when the weary party were sound asleep, Mary, who was lying near him, was wakened by an ominous cough, which rapidly developed into an acute attack of croup.
"It was a stubborn case, and quite beyond my poor skill," said the Little Doctor, as they all stood weeping
