ch the foot of the
mountains. Manley declared that he could not have found the spot had it
not been for my assistance. We here formed camp, while he and I, with
six of our strongest baggage animals, and men to look after them, took
our way up the mountain.

I need scarcely describe the route. Sometimes we made tolerable
progress, at other times we had to use the greatest caution to escape
falling over the precipices which we had now on one side, now on the
other. But the most arduous part of the undertaking was forcing our way
through the primeval forests, over trunks of trees, and through pools of
water, into which the horses sank up to their knees. The poor brutes
had an uncomfortable time of it. The men, armed with thick sticks, went
behind whacking them unmercifully, while others dragged away at their
heads. I was thankful to have the task of acting as guide, although it
was not an easy one--having every now and then to climb over fallen logs
or leap across pools. I was, however, saved the pain of witnessing the
sufferings of the animals; and I determined, if possible, to find an
easier path down again.

At length a height which separated us from the first valley was passed;
and looking down, to our infinite satisfaction we caught sight of a
well-constructed hut, with a wreath of smoke ascending from its chimney.
All, then, was likely to be well. Manley and I, leaving our men to
follow with the animals, hurried down, and in less than a quarter of an
hour we were shaking hands with Uncle Jeff and Clarice. I need scarcely
describe how Manley and my fair young sister met, but it was very
evident that they were not sorry to see each other. Rachel came out,
beaming with smiles; and in a short time Pat Sperry appeared, followed
by another person whom I was truly glad to see--Gideon Tuttle. The
latter had joined Uncle Jeff some days before. Although desperately
wounded, he had managed to make his escape, and had lain in hiding in
the mountains for several days, till he had recovered sufficient
strength to travel. The report he gave us of Bartle, however, was truly
alarming. There could be no doubt that he had been captured by the
Indians, and, Gideon feared, must have been put to death by them; but
when I told him what Piomingo said, he became more hopeful as to the
fate of his old friend.

"If he is alive, we will find him out, wherever he may be!" he
exclaimed. "Even if the varmints have him in the mid