"Now," says the Judge, "You see that point there, just ahead, on the right hand side? Well, I recognize that point, and those mountains opposite, and I tell you that just around that point is El Powaway. That I'll bet on."

No bet could be offered, and not taken; and the result was that the Judge was invariably the loser. So often did this happen, that his vaunted superior knowledge of the country was vastly below par.

As the evening approached, the height of the mountains was perceptibly diminishing, and they were falling away from the river. To the Judge's eye, the hills now presented familiar features. Regarding intently a coming promontory, he ñnally turned and said:

"Boys, I am not now mistaken. I know now where we are, as well as if I had been born and brought up right here. Right around that point is the ferry at El Powaway, and I'll bet my clothes upon it."

"Taken," cried several, emboldened by previous successes. In a short time the promontory was reached, and the view opened up beyond, upon-alas! for the Judge-another variation of the magnificent view and mountain scenery. There was no sign of trail or ferry. The Judge was dumbfounded.

Twilight had set in, and darkness followed rapidly. Captain White now dropped anchor, decidedly declining to explore a new river by night.

The weather was deliciously warm, the breath of the wild flowers and grasses on the banks was gently wafted on board, and save ourselves, all else seemed hushed in deep repose-made strikingly impressive by the bold outline of the lofty mountains soaring above us, and the dark, deep river flowing silently by.

The evening was devoted to music and song. The charming tenor voice of Charley Frush-accompanied by his banjo-introduced into this newly discovered realm of grandeur familiar melodies, which carried our thoughts back to other days. Particularly well do I remember his song, "The Cruis

At daylight the next morning, the boat was under way. No passenger was long in bed. The scenery was so incomparably lovely, the new surprises so wonderful, that all were anxious to miss none of them. At breakfast-time the mountains had perceptibly subsided, and we could fairly say we had passed the chain.

By eight o'clock we discovered a small house on the bank of the river, and soon af ter, the trail from Walla Walla. The house was at the ferry, and constituted the city of El Powaway. It was located on the great Nez Perce trail—the chief thoroughfare between the upper and lower country.

There was quite a crowd of people about the house, evidently waiting to be ferried over the river. Pack trains were strung along the trail, on both sides of the river--all in motion, one way, towards the mines. As we came up, the travelers would rush down to the bank, wave their hats and cheer, some firing off their guns and pistols-all of which we answered by tooting the steam whistle, and cheering in return.

Probably the most conspicuous figure on board was the Judge. Standing on the upper deck, energetically waving a bathing towel, he was simply dressed in his underclothes, and a long-tailed white night-gown. Fortunately, there were no ladies on board.

"Judge," said the Captain, "don't you intend to dress today?"

"Dang it all!" replied the Judge, "the boys have stole my clothes. They say they won 'em on a bet. Do you know where they are, Captain ?"

The Captain did not know, and the Judge thenceforth promenaded in his original and unique traveling costume. Repeated attempts to bribe the waiters-or to borrow spare clothes from the passengers-were utterly unavailing.

A few miles above El Powaway the Clearwater River empties into the Snake. The Captain was for a time undecided which river to ascend, until it was perceived that the throng of travelers were bound up the

At this time of the year the Clearwater was enjoying a surfeit of high water, and appeared to be navigable, although it was clearly evident that in low water it was but a small stream. But as we wished to get as near the mines as possible, it was resolved to pursue this stream as far as we could.

As we left Snake River, the character of the country changed considerably. Small patches of willow trees and groves of poplars began to appear upon the banks. The bottom lands looked rich and fertile. The current was very strong, and navigation exceedingly difficult. The river banks were gravelly, instead of rocky, as on the Snake and Columbia.

Lapwai, the residence of the Indian agent for the Nez Perce tribe, is situated on the Clearwater, twelve miles above its mouth. Surrounded by luxuriant foliage, fine gardens and orchards, and fenced inclosures, it looked a veritable oasis in a desert. Immediately above begins a well timbered range of mountains, while just below the country spreads out into a rolling plain, which furnishes pasturage for innumerable herds of horses and cattle.

Shortly before we reached Lapwai, the Judge made an earnest appeal for his clothes, saying it was quite impossible for him to be seen by the chiefs of the Nez Perce tribe to whom he was well known-in his present costume. Whereupon, the tormentors relaxed their persecution, and the Judge was soon presentable.

As we approached the agency, we could discover that we were causing a decided sensation. The chief, Lawyer by name, cried out to his people. "Look! here comes a water wagon!" Most of the Indians had never before seen a steamboat.

Being pressed for time, we spent but a few minutes at Lapwai. Inviting the Indian Agent and the chief, Lawyer, on board for the farther trip up, we resumed the journey. We were soon between banks bearing heavy timber and dense foliage, and the navigation

ficult. There was plenty of water, but a want of room. The bends of the stream were very sharp, and hard to get around. Often the bow of the boat would be in the bank one side, and the stern wheel in the bushes on the other.

on

After a hard day's work, the captain concluded it was not safe to venture farther, and Mr. Slater consenting a stop was made, and the merchandise landed. We were then, it was estimated, twenty-five miles. above the Agency of Lapwai.

The "Colonel Wright" subsequently made one more trip up the Clearwater, when she went a few miles further up than our stopping place. The steamer "O'Kanagon" also once ascended to where we were now. These three trips were all made within a period of three weeks' time. It was then found that the water was falling, so a new depot must be located. The tongue of land between the Snake and the Clearwater rivers at their junction was selected as a site for a terminus and a town, and the name of Lewiston bestowed upon it, in honor of Captain Lewis, of the Lewis and Clarke exploring expedition.

When the steamer "O'Kanagon" landed here, and left a man to put up a tent, and dig a road down the bank to the landing, there was no house within one hundred miles, except at the Lapwai Agency, and one at El Powaway. One week after, the steamer landed, to find a town of three hundred people, living in tents and stick and mud houses, with streets regularly laid out, and city lots at high figures.

But to return. Slater's goods were landed on the bank of the Clearwater, on the direct trail to Oro Fino. Trains of packs and miners were continually passing. Trade began for him while we were unloading. In fact, during the hour we spent at the new town of "Slaterville," as it was named by acclamation, he took in and remitted back by the boat several hundred dollars.

In three weeks' time, Slater removed his goods to Oro Fino, being informed that the steamer could no longer ascend the Clear

Our trip down the Clearwater was a rapid one, the great difficulty being in holding back. The stiff places and rapids, upon which we had spent hours in going up, vanished like a flash on our return.

Going down the Snake, we again overtook a party of mounted Indians on the bank, who tried the speed of their horses once

As we passed Palouse, the captain shouted to the ferryman that he had better not put up his cable again. He never did.

The trip from Des Chutes to Slaterville consumed three and one-half days. The return down stream was accomplished in eighteen hours. L. W. Coe.

I.

THEY were summering in the Santa Cruz Mountains, the most delightful place in the most delightful State in the Union. The days were long, but full of the interest that extended rambles and sylvan discoveries confer. A fine stream, in which one could wade or bathe to heart's content, kept up its ceaseless conversation, like the hum of near and far voices. How beautiful in the early morning was the light falling on the ranks of giant redwoods; and surely there never was a bluer, purer sky than that bent above it all!

Amy Desart, book in hand, sauntered down a leafy path, on which faint rays of light from the far sky sifted down through the redwoods' odorous branches, glinted on their scarred trunks, and fell like silver arrows into the rich shade of the forest. The book she carried was a pretext. The day was for dreaming, and what printed page could charm the eye, when there were a thousand distractions tempting the curiosity, and challenging the admiration of a healthy nature? If a bumbling bee, a vagrant bird, a clump of yellow violets, or a broad "golden back" were enough to speak to a poetic soul, or charm an artist's eye, who could tire of watching the grander beauties of a redwood forest, or weary of the sudden glimpses through opened boughs of the sublime blue mountains? So a book was quite a useless thing to Miss Amy Desart, but at the same time her habitual companion.

She was aroused from her lazy dreaming by a far halloo. Indeed, she was not immediately aroused, for the hallooing had been going on for quite a respectable length of time before her drowsy consciousness stirred to the effect of something unusual; for hallooing, save of owls, was by no means common in those silent depths. Once aroused from her summery stupor, she listened with growing interest.

The calls continued at intervals, pausing, seemingly in expectation or hope of some reply. Miss Desart concluded, as she heard no responsive halloo from any other part of the forest, that the call was from some one lost in the wilderness. As soon as her half somnolent brain had formed this conclusion, her voice took up the idea, and when another desperate and far away shout came to her ear, she answered with a musical call from her vigorous young lungs, at the same time going in the evident direction of the sound.

She was heard, for a responsive call came in slightly louder tones, so she knew that, whoever it was, he was approaching the sound of her voice. Making a trumpet of her hands, she cried "Lost?"

The answer came quite distinctly, evidently trumpeted in the same manner, "Yes."

She lost all her languor. Here was something of lively interest to occupy her time. "Who are you," she called.

"John Westwood," came the answer. "Of San Francisco," he continued.

Unhesitatingly she plunged into the under

growth and trackless way of the woods, her guide the voice, which kept up a rather onesided conversation-if that can be called a conversation as she only answered occasionally to show him that she was coming. She had no fear of being lost herself, for she had, time and again, roamed in the deepest and wildest parts of the forest, which was full of landmarks for her.

"Out-hunting-and-lost-my-way," came slowly and detachedly to her ears.

She stopped and said to herself: "I've a mind to leave him to his fate. The idea of desecrating this sacred place with a shot-gun!" However, she proceeded to the rescue, determining to give Mr. John Westwood a caustic piece of her mind, when once she had discovered him. (It is safe to say here, in parenthesis, that she forgot her cruel intention long before she came up to him.) She picked and crashed her way through the bushes for a mile, it seemed to her, but distances are deceptive when you have to work your way.

At last, he, waiting, gave a halloo which sounded absurdly loud, when right on the heels of it the bushes parted, and a radiant wood-nymph burst upon his sight. She was quite modernly and fashionably clad, for a wood-nymph, to be sure, in a becoming costume of buff lawn, the soft, loose draperies of which she had caught up to protect them from the brambles, revealing thereby the stiff embroidered ruffles of an immaculate skirt, and faultless feet shod in neat French walking boots. But her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were dazzling, and a cloud of shining hair rested lightly on her white forehead. Her wide hat, pushed far back on her head by some saucy branch, served as a frame to a bewitching face.

She beheld a tall young man in hunter's buckskin, leaning on a rifle. His brown eyes were a shade softer than usual, from their weariness, perhaps. His face was clearly cut, and a dark moustache adorned his firm lip.

For more than a moment they gazed into each other's eyes, then laughed and bowed. After thanking her enthusiastically, he said:

"I had no idea of compelling a young lady to my rescue. I thought it was a boy who answered me, and fully expected to see a 'barefoot boy, with cheek of tan,' instead of -" he hesitated.

"You will see no barefoot boys around here," she said, hastily. "There is too great a fear of rattlesnakes."

"I have not seen any."

"Maybe not; for they are not fearfully prevalent, or I should not be here. But once in a while you come across an ugly fellow. I always go armed, myself," she said saucily, producing a tiny silver-mounted flask from the depths of a capacious pocket.

It was but a glimpse of the flask he caught, for she plunged it back impatiently, as if she resented the impulse of familiarity.

"If you will follow me" she said shortly. "With all my heart. I love the woods, but began to fear I should never get out of this. I have been wandering about, seeking a path which I could follow anywhere, for six mortal hours."

"It's easy enough when you know the way."

'Ah, but every one isn't a dryad."

"No. I'm especially engaged for the summer in that capacity," she said, airily acknowledging his meaning. "When I'm at home," she continued, thinking previous confidence called for a like return, "I'm Miss Amy Desart, of-well, everywhere in general. We're nomads."

"I'm most happy, Miss Desart," he began in the stiff manner some people adopt when acknowledging an introduction, "to find in you an angel unawares,” he concluded with regained ease. "And-and," he went on mischievously, "I think I was bitten by a rattlesnake some time this morning."

She turned in alarm and met his eyes, in which he could not repress a twinkle.

"Why, you said you hadn't seen any." "I didn't see one, but I'm sure I must have heard a good many, and one could easily bite me and I not pay much attention to it, you know, in my perplexity.”

She regarded him carefully, felt sure that he was a gentleman, and saw besides the

mischief in his eyes a great exhaustion, that brought out the silver flask without farther misgiving,

"I came off at four this morning, without any breakfast," and one could see his weariness was real. "You know," he added, excusing himself, "I expected to be back at the hotel by six with a deer for breakfast."

"You are staying at F-?" she asked. F-was a village on the line of the railway, about a mile distant.

"I have been there for the last week, but intend to return to the city tomorrow. I suppose you can show me the way to F-?" "O, yes. I am so glad it was full," she said irrelevantly, as he returned her the empty Aask. "You must have been very faint. We are nearly to the path; and Miss Desart's compliments, and will Mr. John Westwood deign to partake of an informal lunch at Hepsidam?"

"Mr. John Westwood accepts with due informality, not to say that he jumps at the

But where and what in the name

of the redwoods is Hepsidam?"

"Hepsidam-as the name signifies-is 'a place in the wilderness,' rented during the summer months to campers for a small stipend. We have been down every summer for three years. But here we are."

He stepped out on.the path and stood beside her. How fragrant and cool the woods were. The broad, leafy path made one sigh with pity for those who were bound to tread the stifling streets of the city. They soon reached the cottage, which was not far from where they struck the path. It was an idyllic repast that awaited them. Mrs. Desart was as lovely and cordial as her daughter, and Mr. Desart was full of bonhommie and unconcealed delight, at meeting anyone so recently from the city.

"I wish I had had the good luck to lose myself in this vicinity a week ago," said Westwood, regretfully, as he was taking his departure, considerably later in the after

noon.

"Well, you can find your way here easily now, and we shall be glad to see you at any time," said paterfamilias, cordially.

"Thank you for your kindness, but my vacation ends tomorrow," he sighed.

They all joined him on his walk hotelward, to make sure of his taking the right turns and angles which were to take him to F—, and it seemed to him that Amy was even more beautiful in the tender twilight than before. They parted from him as warmly as from an old friend, with cordial hand shakes all around, and Mr. Desart told him to run down any Sunday when he wanted a breath of the redwoods—an invitation cordially seconded by Mrs. Desart, and shyly by Amy. They stood and watched him till he reached a bend in the road, where he turned and waved his handkerchief, at which three handkerchiefs fluttered in response, then the bend in the road hid him from sight. They turned back on the path with rather a lonesome feeling, for this bright young fellow, whom they had not known a dozen hours before, had proved such a jolly comrade for the few hours of their acquaintance, that they honestly regretted his departure. And though they would have disclaimed indignantly, and with truth, any suggestion that they had suffered ennni before his appearance, still they began to look forward to the possible Sunday when he would come again. They might have had visitors in abundance, of course. But, though not by any means selfish people, they were still not gregarious to any extent.

Their unsocial instincts were probably due to their fondness for traveling, and the ease with which they had always been able to gratify that fondness. Amy, in fact, could hardly have told which was her own country. She was as familiar with France and Germany as America, and Scotland she had always loved. But since they had discovered the redwoods of California, she was inspired by their grandeur to quite a strong patriotism, for, though cosmopolitan bred, she was California born.

THE next Sunday, John Westwood could hardly conquer his desire to visit his new friends. But he felt that it would be better taste to let one Sunday elapse between his