On September 2, 1919, I left Zarephath, New Jersey for Denver, Colorado. Seven days later, accompanied by my brother and his wife, Rev. Charles W. and Lillian O. Bridwell, I started on a trip to the Yellowstone National Park. Traffic on the railroads was so heavy out of Denver that we had some difficulty in getting properly routed, but finally succeeded. Twenty-four hours later, we reached Cody, Wyoming, the eastern entrance to the Park. We secured lodging at the Irma Hotel, founded by William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), and named for his favorite daughter. On the walls of the office and in the halls of this hotel were splendid paintings, in which the whole history of the famous frontiersman and Indian fighter was shown. Hours could profitably be spent studying these pictures, in which one could learn more about the "Wild West," of former days, than one could get from the average history. All of the famous Indian chiefs were there, among them, Red Cloud, Sitting Bull, and Black Bird. Their features were so perfectly outlined I almost felt I was looking into their faces. There were so many tourists we were fortunate in getting accommodations at this place, when arrangements had not been made ahead. Since I felt the need of rest, and my brother wanted more information concerning the tour through the Park, we concluded to stay over for a day. We held an open-air Gospel meeting here, and had the opportunity of getting acquainted with some of the people whom we told about the work of the Pillar of Fire organization. At one time we had about decided to hire an automobile and drive through the Park, but later, concluded it would be too much of an undertaking, and made arrangements with the Yellowstone Park Transportation Company to take us through for about forty-three dollars each; this included board and lodging at the Yellowstone Camps. At 8:15, on the morning of September 12, we boarded one of the big, yellow touring-cars, with a number of other passengers, and proceeded on our journey. We had nothing to do with the selection of our automobile party, but could not have been better suited. About four miles west of Cody, we entered the SHOSHONE CANYON, three miles from the first tunnel. In the meantime, we were climbing up the mountainside so rapidly that it was soon hundreds of feet to the chasm below. In a little while we reached the top of the SHOSHONE DAM, to the left, and here made our first stop. The scenery, while approaching and when leaving the dam, was the most magnificent I have ever beheld. Word-pictures fail to give even a slight idea of the depths of the canyon, the wonderful tints and hues caused by mineral formations and volcanic action in ages past. The trees on either side were of such immense height, that I was almost staggered. I was not expecting anything like this, on the run from Cody to the boundary of the Park; and surprises awaited me every moment of the time.