After cutting a path for two days, The Assiniboine was almost disabled by thorns in his hands and legs, and as we had not accomplished more than two or three miles each day, we attempted to escape out of the narrow valley in which we were confined, in the hope of finding clearer ground above. But the mountain sides were too steep; the horses rolled down one after another, crashing amongst the fallen timber; and we were compelled to imitate the example of the King of France, and come down again. On the 3rd we reached a marsh about 300 yards in length, scantily covered with timber, the first open space we had met with for ten days; and the change from the deep gloom of the forest to the bright sunlight made our eyes blink indeed, but produced a most cheering effect on our spirits. The horses here found plenty of pasture, although of poor quality--a great boon to them after their long course of twigs and mare’s-tail. This was altogether a brighter day than common, for we met with several patches of raspberries, as large as English garden-fruit, and two species of bilberry, the size of sloes, growing on bushes two feet high. The woods were garnished with large fern, like the English male fern, a tall and slender bracken, and quantities of the oak and beech fern. We had the luck, too, to kill four partridges for supper; and although the day was showery, and we were completely soaked in pushing through the underwood, we felt rather jollier that night than we had done since the trail ended. Before evening we came to a rocky rapid stream from the N.W. We all mounted our horses to traverse it except Mr. O’B., who had never become reconciled to riding since his dire experience along the Fraser. What was to be done? Mr. O’B. obstinately persisted that he dare not venture on horseback, and the river was too deep and rapid to be safely forded on foot. After some useless discussion with him, we plunged our horses in, The Assiniboine and his family having crossed already; but before Cheadle’s horse had left the bank a yard, Mr. O’B. rushed madly after, dashed in, and grasping the flowing tail of Bucephalus with both hands, was towed over triumphantly. After this great success, his anxiety about prospective rivers was greatly alleviated. After leaving the little marsh above-mentioned, we were again buried in the densest forest, without any opening whatever, for several days, and worked away in the old routine of cutting through timber, driving perverse horses and extricating them from difficulties, and subsisting on our scanty mess of “rubaboo.” Tracks of bears were numerous, and we saw signs of beaver on all the streams, but our advance was necessarily so noisy that we had small chance of seeing game, and we could not afford to rest a day or two for the purpose of hunting. [Illustration: MR. O’B. TRIUMPHANTLY CROSSES THE RIVER. (_See page 291._) ]