strange wood, and you get separated from him, he will often whinny; but I am digressing. After having succeeded in stopping the affrighted animals, I took a careful survey of my desolate surroundings. I saw to my left three Indians standing on a slightly elevated ground, and I raised my rifle to fire. They saw my movement and they quickly dropped to the ground. I sent a bullet as near as I could to the spot; and while I think it did them no injury, yet it was a notice that I was armed, and an admonition not to come within range. I was satisfied that they were unarmed, save with bows and arrows, which, to be effective, required both ambush and a short range; so, although five or six miles from camp, I was fearful of neither. I saw that the horses, hobbled or spanselled, were very much impeded in their ability to travel, only being able to go by short jumps. Dismounting, I unbuckled some and cut the hobbles of others. About three miles from camp I met a rescuing party, among whom was my guard companion. I was inclined to blame him for not accompanying me in my wild race, but I have long since forgiven him. Such an incident was not uncommon in the early migrations to this coast. The attempts were numerous, but generally not as successful as this one. The next day, early in the morning, as we were moving slowly along at the foot of a high and bald ridge, whose top was enveloped in fog, we heard coming from the top a shrill voice saying in prolonged accents, "Steal Hoss--God dam!" Some thought it to be the voice of an angel; others said that if the voice was that of an angel, it must have come from a fallen angel, because the language was very improper for one retaining his first estate; while others suggested that it was nothing, but an extract, or echo from my soliloquy, as I dodged through the sage-brush and grease-wood on that awful night in hot pursuit, of our affrighted and fleeing horses. Despite the plausibility of this last suggestion, I adhere to Lord Byron's contention that the anatheme was the nucleus of England's native eloquence; and if so, why not of Indian oratory? After passing around the point of this angelic ridge, the road diverges to the westward from Snake River and passes over some high, bald ridges separating it from Burnt River. On the afternoon of the 17th of July, an oppressively hot and sultry day, our train descended from a high and volcanic table land to the narrow valley of Burnt River in Southeastern Oregon. The way down was through a long, narrow and treeless canyon into which the sun poured with focal power. This canyon, and, in fact, Burnt River valley, is the home of the festive rattlesnake. He is of the large yellow bellied species, fierce in his war moods, and deadly when, from his spiral coil battery, "He pours at once his venom and his length."