ng
in the direction I had chosen, and leaving my horse unhitched, as had
always been my custom, walked a few rods into the forest. While
surveying the ground my horse took fright, and I turned around in time
to see him disappearing at full speed among the trees. That was the
last I ever saw of him. It was yet quite dark. My blankets, gun,
pistols, fishing tackle, matches--everything, except the clothing on
my person, a couple of knives, and a small opera-glass were attached
to the saddle.

[Illustration: "The Last I Ever Saw of Him."]

I did not realize the possibility of a permanent separation from the
company. Instead of following up the pursuit of their camp, I engaged
in an effort to recover my horse. Half a day's search convinced me of
its impracticability. I wrote and posted in an open space several
notices, which, if my friends should chance to see, would inform them
of my condition and the route I had taken, and then struck out into
the forest in the supposed direction of their camp. As the day wore on
without any discovery, alarm took the place of anxiety at the prospect
of another night alone in the wilderness, and this time without food
or fire. But even this dismal foreboding was cheered by the hope that
should soon rejoin my companions, who would laugh at my adventure, and
incorporate it as a thrilling episode into the journal of our trip.
The bright side of a misfortune, as I found by experience, even under
the worst possible circumstances, always presents some features of
encouragement. When I began to realize that my condition was one of
actual peril, I banished from my mind all fear of an unfavorable
result. Seating myself on a log, I recalled every foot of the way I
had traveled since the separation from my friends, and the most
probable opinion I could form of their whereabouts was, that they had,
by a course but little different from mine, passed by the spot where I
had posted the notices, learned of my disaster, and were waiting for
me the rejoin them there, or searching for me in that vicinity. A
night must be spent amid the prostrate trunks before my return could
be accomplished. At no time during my period of exile did I experience
so much mental suffering from the cravings of hunger as when,
exhausted with this long clay of fruitless search, I resigned myself
to a couch of pine foliage in the pitchy darkness of a thicket of
small trees. Naturally timid in the night, I fully realized the
expos