and to sleep in Walla Walla that night. The boat was to return to Des Chutes that day. The cautious Captain interposed, however: " Well, boys, we are up, but we haven't got down yet."
To us, who were to return, this was an intimation of more trouble, and, perhaps, a new experience. However, our faith in the boat and her commander had now risen to that elevation at which we were prepared to believe she could perform any wonder, and we were disposed to scoff at any doubter.
We arrived at Wallula at nine o'clock. Higgins, the solitary inhabitant, came forth to take our lines and bid us welcome. Soon a messenger was sent to an Indian ranch for ponies, and presently a small band was driven into a corral, and the passengers engaged themselves in the selection of riding animals. Wallula is situated at the mouth of the Walla Walla River, and is a bleak, barren, and desolate-looking place. Opposite and across the river are high grass hills, sloping away gently into the Yakima Valley on the north. The post and town of Walla Walla is situated thirty miles inland, at the head of the lovely valley whose wonderful fertility begins some miles inland from this point. The interval is sand hills and plain, clad with sage brush.
Now that our passengers are mounted and gone, the boat unloaded, we make ready to return. Two hours' time has been consumed here, when we cast off, and are headed down stream. The difference in speed of the boat was astonishing. We seemed to fly. We could hardly recognize the prominent points we had so carefully scanned in our laborious upward trip. We ran the Umatilla Rapids without accident, notwithstanding the premonitory warnings of our Captain. Thence on, with full head of steam, our way was made as rapidly as possible, for we wanted to reach Des Chutes before night.
It was quite dark when we reached John Day Rapids, but still we could plainly see the threatening rocks rising out of the boiling and seething water; we passed them in close proximity, yet escaping them. From here it was plain sailing, and we arrived at the landing our starting point of yesterday just as the steward was lighting up the cabin for supper.
Not anticipating so quick a return, we had made no provision for riding into the Dalles fifteen miles overland. But we soon found a teamster, whose freight wagon, filled with straw, would make a comfortable conveyance, so we concluded to complete the trip by a ride to town.
Bidding good-bye to our genial Captain, we ensconced ourselves in the wagon, which, in about four hours, landed us at the hostelry, where we toasted in champagne the success of the steamboat, and the inauguration of one of the greatest enterprises of the Northwest.
L. W. Coe.
JUNE.
A FLORIDA STORY; IN Two PARTS.
I.
SHE weren't much lighter complected than I wor, 'n' I'll never forget the fust time I see her, the pretty, delicate little -darlin'! Charley Mott 'n' me, both Florida born, had just been offered farly good places in Everton, a town in Alachua County, and were on our way dar. We had stepped off de cars while de freight was taking off, 'n' dar she sot at one end of the depot, wid sich a sadness in her great dark eyes!
Lord! but ef she didn't take me all aback, as it wor! I hadn't give but one look, neither, not that fust time, but that one jest took my breath clear away. Charley went
