On and on he had come, until he had reached the base of the Rocky Mountains. He would have gone over them, but, having an eye to business, and knowing that it was necessary to secure a market for his produce, he calculated that he had come far enough for the present. He therefore climbed the sides of the mountain for a short distance, until he entered a sort of canon, which, penetrating westward, greatly narrowed, until it had the appearance of a cleft with lofty crags on either side,--while it opened out eastward, overlooking the broad valley and the plain beyond. He chose the spot as one capable of being defended against the Redskins, never in those parts very friendly to white men,--especially towards those whom they found settling themselves on lands which they looked upon as their own hunting-grounds, although they could use them for no other purpose. Another reason which had induced Uncle Jeff to select this spot was, that not far off was one of the only practicable passes through the mountains either to the north or south, and that the trail to it led close below us at the foot of the hills, so that every emigrant train or party of travellers going to or from the Great Salt Lake or California must pass in sight of the house. A stream, issuing from the heights above, fell over the cliffs, forming a roaring cataract; and then, rushing through the canon, made its way down into the valley, irrigating and fertilizing the ground, until it finally reached a large river, the Platte, flowing into the Missouri. From this cataract our location obtained its name of "Roaring Water;" but it was equally well known as "Uncle Jeff's Farm." Our neighbours, if such they could be called in this wild region, were "birds of passage." Now and then a few Indian families might fix their tents in the valley below; or a party of hunters or trappers might bivouac a night or two under the shelter of the woods, scattered here and there; or travellers bound east or west might encamp by the margin of the river for the sake of recruiting their cattle, or might occasionally seek for shelter at the log-house which they saw perched above them, where, in addition to comfortable quarters, abundant fare and a hospitable welcome--which Uncle Jeff never refused to any one, whoever he might be, who came to his door--were sure to be obtained. But it is time that I should say something about the inmates of the house at the period I am describing. First, there was Uncle Jeff Crockett, a man of about forty-five, with a tall, stalwart figure, and a handsome countenance (though scarred by a slash from a tomahawk, and the claws of a bear with which he had had a desperate encounter). A bright blue eye betokened a keen sight, as also that his rifle was never likely to miss its aim; while his well-knit frame gave assurance of great activity and endurance.