When Christmas approached Davy’s supply of powder ran low, and he determined to cross the Fork and go to the home of a brother-in-law who had settled six miles west, and who had brought with him a keg of powder for Davy. The river was full of slush ice, and was out of its banks, as when Davy first saw it, but the determination to have powder for the usual Christmas fusillade, and the fact that they were out of meat, overruled his wife’s argument that they might as well starve as to have him drown or freeze. With his gun and hunting tools, and a few extras in the way of clothing, he started through the deep snow that had fallen, and waded across half a mile of flooded ground, until the main channel was before him. This he crossed on a log that lay from bank to bank, but farther on he came to a slough which was wider than the river itself, though he had always been able to cross it on another log. This was entirely under water, but he recognized its location by the sapling that stood beside it. By cutting another long sapling and lodging it against the first, he managed to use the submerged log as a bridge, and reached an island, now under water in the slough. Again wading for a long distance, he crossed another slough part way on a floating log, but fell off it when it turned over with him. He waded out of the water, which was nearly up to his head, and when he got to solid ground, put on the dry clothing which he had held, with his rifle, above the water. He says that after he had done this and had hung the wet clothing on the bushes, he had no feeling in his flesh. He tried to run to warm himself, but could scarcely move his feet.