My horse held out pretty well for twenty miles, and then suddenly broke down. We were on the plain of the Salinas, and there was but little prospect of my being able to procure a substitute. But just at this crisis the mail rider hove in sight, with a horse in lead. I arranged with him for the spare animal, transferred my saddle to him, and with a farewell to my wearied steed, started again. We had directed our wagoner to proceed to San Juan, and expected to overtake him at that place before dark. But night set in while we were eight or ten miles distant, and it was a night of Egyptian darkness. We lost our way, and brought up in the woods. To proceed was impossible; so we dismounted, tied our horses together, felt for some dry leaves, and fired them with a lucifer which had been given us by a traveller an hour before. With brush and bits of bark we managed to sustain our fire, but our prospect for the night was rather gloomy—without a drop of water, without any food, without an overcoat or blanket to cover us, with heavy thunder over head, and the wolves barking around. But we divided ourselves into four watches; one was to keep up the fire while the other three slept, and each take his turn in feeding the flame. My watch came first, and it was the longest two hours I ever experienced. Every old snag I drew to the fire seemed to exhaust the little strength that remained. My eyelids would fall, and it seemed impossible to lift them. I heard the wolves bark, but it was like a noise in one’s dream. But my relief came at last, and throwing myself down close to the fire, I slept too sound even for the thunder. It was the cold dim gray of advancing morn when I awoke. A ride of an hour brought us to San Juan, where we found our baggage-wagon at a stream, the mules tethered, and whistling a piteous welcome to our steeds, and the driver blowing into a bundle of reeds and straw, from which a slender thread of smoke was rising into the chill atmosphere.