“But if I have many more such, I fear I shall never get back to relate them. My face is all swelled—Huzza! yonder is a light, at last! It’s on this side of the river, and if we can’t get over the ferry to-night, we shall have something to eat on this side, at all events. Ha! ha! ha! I see a living man moving before the fire, as if he were roasting meat.” Joe forgot his wound in the joy of an anticipated supper, and whipping the horses into a brisk pace, they soon drew near the encampment, where they discovered numerous persons, male and female, who had been prevented from crossing the river that day, in consequence of the violence of the storm, and had raised their tents at the edge of the woods, preferring to repose thus until the following morning than to venture into the frail ferry-boat while the waves yet ran so high. There was no habitation in the immediate vicinity, save a rude hovel occupied by Jasper Roughgrove and his ferrymen, which was on the opposite shore in a narrow valley that cleft asunder the otherwise uniform cliff of rocks. The creaking of the wheels, when the vehicle approached within a few hundred paces of the encampment, attracted the watch-dogs, and their fierce and continued barking drew the attention of the emigrants in the direction indicated. Several men with guns in their hands came out to meet the young travellers. “We are white men, friends, strangers, lost, benighted, and hungry!” exclaimed Joe, stopping the horses, and addressing the men before he was accosted. “Come on, then, and eat and rest with us,” said they, amused at Joe’s exclamations, and leading the way to the encampment.