could not change his mind. To any except such a character as Whitman, the situation would have been indeed hopeless; but before he slept his plans were made. He said to General Lovejoy: "You stay here in the cañon and recuperate the stock, and I will return to the fort and get a new guide." At the first streak of dawn the men were mounted and on their way. It was a cheerless wait for Lovejoy, but he had the companionship of his dog, and he busied himself in cutting bunch grass and tender twigs for the animals and bringing in logs for his fire. The General says, "Whitman was gone just one week, when the old dog heard his distant halloo and answered it with a rejoicing bark." He and his new guide, hungry and tired, were soon enjoying the bright log fire, always the crowning comfort of camp-life.
I trust that my readers may all live to have a camp-fire experience. Permit me to tell you of one great camp-fire, near the summit of the Sierras, which lives in the memory after nearly fifty years of busy life. Our pack-train had been toiling up the mountain, hoping for a resting-place, when our scouts came and reported. Following them along winding paths which grizzlies and Indians had made, around the rugged rocks, we reached a beautiful little valley covered with luxuriant grass. We picketed our tired animals in the
