"Seven miles below here, on the other side of the river. They want you at two o'clock, Thursday afternoon." "I will endeavor to be there at that time," said I; "but who are the parties?" "Oh," he replied, with a look which was its own interpreter, "you will know when you get there." After getting all the directions needful for finding the place, I was about closing the interview, but my caller lingered as if he had more to say; and, after evident embarrassment, asked what I "charged for marrying folks?" "I generally leave that to the parties," said I. Then ensued another pause, broken, at length, by his saying, in a depressed tone,— "I have no money now; perhaps you wouldn't come down and marry us, and wait for your pay?" "That I will," I replied. "And, Providence permitting, you will see me at precisely the hour named." The cloud lifted from the sunburnt face, and smilingly thanking me, he hurried away with a light step. Seven miles in prairie land is a short distance; but not being in a mood to walk, I engaged a horse of a neighbor. Meanwhile, for the two intervening days, it rained, or rather poured incessantly, moderating to a gentle fall on Thursday. On calling for the horse, however, the owner was reluctant to let him go. "Elder," said he (he was a Methodist), "are you used to managing horses?" "Somewhat—why?" "Because," he added, "my horse is a high-spirited fellow, and has a bad trick of throwing folks. Few can ride him without getting hurt. The fact is, I didn't sleep a wink last night, worrying about consenting to let you have him; and I don't feel right to let him go without speaking of it." "How does he throw his riders?" I asked. "By suddenly jumping to one side. He's powerful at jumping—beats all the horses I ever saw in 'that' line," said he. "I can look out for him!" "He'll outwit you, elder; hope you won't try it." But it was too late to go in search of another, and pleading urgent business and willingness to incur all risks, the formidable beast was led out—a powerful, intelligent, fiery animal, black as a raven. What can be more inspiriting than a horseback jaunt across a rolling Northwest prairie. So, despite the cold and rain, and now and then a prodigious leap by Black Hawk, the ride was most exhilarating. It was two miles to the bridge. On arriving there, I found that the freshet had swept it away. Just in sight, however, in the margin of a fine grove, was a snug little cabin, and riding briskly there, the barking of dogs and my shouts brought the proprietor to the door, a bevy of flaxen-haired urchins at his heels, with eyes brimful of curiosity. "Is there any way to cross the river?" I asked. "Yes; on the bridge," he replied, curtly. "The bridge is gone." "Well, then there 'isn't' any way." "But is there no place on the stream shoal enough to be forded?" The settler scratched his head comically, scanned me and my beast leisurely, and said,—