indistinct notes, not sufficiently clear to accurately verify locations. He kept a record of daily events, but Whitman never a line. Lovejoy writes:
"From Fort Hall to Uintah we met with terribly severe weather. The deep snow caused us to lose much time. At Uintah we took a new guide to Fort Uncompagra in old Spanish territory, which place we safely reached. There we hired a new guide, and while passing over a high mountain on the trail toward Grand River, we encountered a terrible snow storm which compelled us to seek shelter in a deep, dark cañon. We made several attempts to pass on, but were driven back, and detained ten days. We finally got well upon the mountain again, when we met with a violent storm of snow and wind, which almost blinded us, maddened the animals, and made them nearly unmanageable. Finally the guide stopped and said, 'I am lost and can lead you no farther.' In this dire dilemma, adds General Lovejoy, Dr. Whitman got off his horse, and kneeling in the snow, committed his little company, his loved wife, his work, and his Oregon to the Infinite One for guidance and protection. The lead pack mule being left to himself by the guide pricked up his long ears, turning them this way and that, and began plunging through the snowdrifts. The Mexican guide called out, 'Follow this old mule, he will find the camp if he lives long enough to reach it.'"
And he did lead them to the still burning fire they had left in the morning in the deep, dark cañon. The instinct of dumb animals is a wonderful gift, superior to that of wise men. The writer has, twice in his life, been rescued by his horse when hopelessly lost. One instance I will recite, simply to impress a lesson of kindness upon my young readers for dumb animal life. Two of
