37 Days of Peril

been truly hopelessly, frighteningly lost. In eighteen seventy, before Montana and Wyoming were states and America held no federally protected lands, some twenty explorers set out into the maze of uncharted wilderness known as Yellowstone among the Washburn Langford Done expedition was fifty four year old True and See efforts the Montana territories first federal tax assessor, who had recently found

himself out of a jar. The party departed Helena the sixteenth of August on horseback, tracing the Continental Divide south via the Yellowstone River. The morning of September nine, everyone was accounted for. That night at camp, they realized Truman was missing. Immediately a search was organized. Steps were retraced two weeks were spent scouring the nearby headwaters of the Snake and Yellowstone Rivers, but there was no sign of their comrade. Later they recovered his riderless pack horse. But

this story has a happy ending. On October two, searchers spotted Mr. Evarts, some fifty miles from where he had gone missing. He was in bad shape, delirious and injured, weighing on fifty pounds, but saved in time to make a full recovery. Within the following year, Truman Everts wrote a detailed account of his wanderings entitled thirty seven Days of Peril, which was published in the November one issue of Scribner's Monthly. Adapted for audio, the following is that story,

in the author's own words, thirty seven Days of Peril. Wow. It desired to visit this remarkable region, of which during several years residents in Montana I had often heard the most marvelous accounts. Led me to unite in the expedition

of August last. The general character of this stupendous scenery of the rocky mountains prepared my mind for giving credit to all the strange stories told of the yellow Stone, and I felt quite as certain of the existence of the physical phenomena of that country on the morning that our company started from Helena, as when I afterwards beheld it, I engaged in the enterprise with enthusiasm, feeling that all the hardships and exposures of a month's horseback travel through

an unexplored region would be more than compensated by the grandeur and novelty of the natural objects with which it was crowded. Of course, the idea of being lost in it without any of the ordinary means of subsistence, and the wandering for days and weeks in a famishing condition alone in an unfrequented wilderness, formed no part of my contemplation.

On the day that I found myself separated from the company, and for several days previous, our course had been impeded by the dense growth of the pine forest and occasional large tracts of fallen timber, frequently rendering our progress almost impossible. Whenever we came to one of these immense windfalls, each man engaged in the pursuit of a passage through it, and it was while thus employed that I strayed out

of sight and hearing of my comrades. We'd had a toilsome day, and it was quite late in the afternoon. As separations like this frequently occurred, it gave me no alarm. Fully confident of soon rejoining the company or of finding their camp, I came up with the pack horse and rode on in the direction which I supposed had been taken,

until darkness overtook me in the dense forest. This was disagreeable enough, but I had no doubt of being with the party At breakfast the next morning, I selected a spot for comfortable repose, picketed my horse, built a fire, and went to sleep. M m m hm. The next morning I rose at early dawn, saddled and mounted my horse, and took my course in the supposed direction of the camp.

Our ride of the previous day had been upper Peninsula, jutting into the lake, for the shore of which I started with the expectation of finding my friends camped on the beach. The forest was quite dark and the trees so thick that in searching for the trail I became somewhat confused. The falling foliage of the pines had obliterated every trace of travel. I was obliged frequently to dismount

and examine the ground for the faintest indicatations. Coming to an opening from which I could see several vistas, I dismounted for the purpose of selecting one leading in the direction I had chosen, and, leaving my horse unhitched, as it always been my custom, walked a few rods into the forest. I turned around in time to see him disappearing at full speed among the trees. This was the

last I ever saw of him. My blankets, gun, pistols, fishing tackle, matches, everything except the clothing on my person, A couple of knives, and a small opera glass were attached to the saddle. Instead of following up the pursuit of the camp, I engaged in an effort to recover my horse. Half a day's search convinced me of its

impracticability in an open space. I wrote and posted several notices, which, if my friends should chance to see, would inform them of my Isisian and the route I had taken, and then struck out into the forest in the supposed direction of their camp. As the day wore on without any discovery, alarm took the place of anxiety at the prospect of another night alone in the wilderness, and this time without

food or fire. But even this dismal foreboding was cheered by the hope that I should soon rejoin my companions, who would laugh at my adventure, and incorporated as a

thrilling episode into the journal of our trip. Seating myself on a log, I recalled every foot of the way I had traveled since the separation from my friends, and the most probable opinion I could form of their whereabouts was that they had, by a coarse but little different from mine, passed by the spot where I had posted the notices, learned of my disaster and were waiting for me to rejoin them. There were searching for me in that vicinity. A night must be spent amid the prostrate

trunks before my return could be accomplished. I resigned myself to a couch of foliage in a thicket of small trees, naturally timid. In the night, I fully realized the exposure of my condition. The forest seemed alive with the screeching of night birds, the angry barking of coyotes, and the prolonged dismal howl of the gray wolf. Early the next morning, I rose, unrefreshed, and pursued my weary way over the prostrate trunks. It was noon when I reached the spot

where my notices were posted. No one had been there. For the first time, I realized that I was lost. No food, no fire, no means to procure either, alone in an unexplored wilderness, one hundred and fifty miles from the nearest human abode, surrounded by wild beasts, and famishing with hunger. A moment afterwards, I felt how calamity can elevate the mind and the formation of the resolution not to perish in that wilderness. It was midday when I emerged from the forest into an open space at the

foot of the peninsula. A broad lake of beautiful curvature with magnificent surroundings lay before me, glittering in the sunbeams. It was a full twelve miles in circumference. Large flocks of swan and other waterfowl were sporting on the quiet surface. Otters in great number performed the most amusing aquatic evolutions. Mink and beaver swam around unscared in the most grotesque confusion. Deer, elk, and mountain sheep stared at me, manifesting more surprised than

fear at my presence among them. The adjacent forest was vocal with the songs of birds, chief of which were the chattering notes of a sees of mocking bird, whose imitative efforts afforded abundant merriment. With the belief that I had discovered the source of the great southern tributary of the Columbia, I gave it the name of Bessie Lake,

after the sole daughter of my house and heart. A wide belt of sand formed the margin which I was approaching, directly opposite to which, rising seemingly from the very depths of the water, towered the loftiest peak of a range of mountains, apparently interminable. Seen under favorable circumstances, this assemblage of grandeur, beauty, and novelty would have been transporting, But

I was in no humor for ecstasy. I recognized the mountain which overshadowed it as the landmark which a few days before had received from General Washburn the name of Mount Everts, And as it is associated with some of the most agreeable and terrible incidents of my exile, I feel that I have more than a mere discoverer's right

to the perpetuity of that christening. Imagine my delight, while gazing upon this animated expanse of water, had seen sail out from a distant point a large canoe containing a single oarsman, rapidly approaching the shore where I was seated. With hurried steps, I paced the beach to meet it. As I drew near it turned towards the shore, the object, which my eager fancy had transformed into an angel of relief,

stalked from the water. An enormous pelican flapped its dragon wings and flew to a solitary point farther up the lake. M Night was fast approaching, and while looking for a spot where I might repose in safety, my attention was distracted to a small green plant of so lively hue as to form a striking contrast with deep high foliage. For closer examination, I pulled it up by the root. It was a thistle, palatable and nutritious. My appetite craved it, and the first meal in four days was made on

thistle roots. Overjoyed by this discovery, with hunger allaid, I stretched myself under a tree upon the foliage, which had partially filled the space between contiguous trunks and fell asleep. Suddenly I was roused by a loud, shrill scream, like that of a human in distress. There was no mistake in that fearful voice. I have been deceived by and answered it a dozen times while threading the forest. It was the screech of a mountain lion. To yell and return.

Seized with convulsive grasp the limbs of the friendly tree and swing myself into it was the work of a moment. Scrambling hurriedly from living to limb, I was soon as near the top as safety would permit. I increased my voice to its utmost volume, broke branches from the limbs, and, in the impetucy of fright, madly hurled them at the spot.

Whence the continued howlings proceeded, failing to alarm the animal, which now began to make a circuit of the tree, as if to select a spot for springing into it. I shook with a strength increased by terror, the slender trunk, until every limb rustled with motion, all in vain, Expecting every moment it would take the deadly leap. I tried to collect my thoughts and prepare for the fatal encounter. Which I knew must result. Just then it occurred to

me that I would try silence. Clasping the trunk of the tree with both arms, I sat perfectly still. The lion imitated my example. Moments passed like hours, but after a lapse of time which I cannot estimate, the beast gave a spring into the thicket and ran screaming into the forest. My deliverance was effected. Had strength permitted, I

should have retained my perch till daylight. But with the consciousness of escape from the jaws of the ferocious brute, came a sense of overpowering weakness, which almost palsied me and made my descent from the tree both difficult and dangerous. Incredible as it may seem, I lay down in my old bed and was soon lost in a slumber so profound that I did not awake until after daylight. I was roused by a marked change in the atmosphere. One of those dreary storms of mingled snow and rain common

to these high latitudes, set in. My clothing, which had been much torn, exposed my person to its pitiless peltings. An easterly wind rising to a gale admonished me that it would be furious and of long duration. I could find no better shelter than the spreading branches of a spruce tree. The storm meanwhile raged with unabated violence. On the morning of the third day, taking full advantage of a lull in the elements, I rose early and started in the direction of a large group of hot springs,

which were steaming under the shadow of Mount Everts. The distance I traveled could not have been less than ten miles. Long before I reached the wonderful cluster of natural cauldrons, the storm had recommenced. Chilled through with my clothing thoroughly saturated, I lay down under a tree upon the heated incrustacean and completely warmed. My heels and the sides of my

feet were frozen. As soon as the warmth had permeated my system, I took a survey of my surroundings and selected a spot between two springs sufficiently asunder to afford heat at my head and feet. On this spot I built a bower of pine branches, spread its encrusted surface with the fallen foliage and small bows, and stowed myself away to await the close of the storm. Thistles were abundant, and I had fed upon them long enough to realize that they would, for a while at least sustain life.

Inconvenient proximity to my abode was a small round boiling spring, which I called my dinner pot, in which from time to time I cooked my roots. This establishment I occupied seven days, the first three of which were darkened by one of the most furious storms I ever saw. I was enveloped in a perpetual steam bath. At first this was barely preferable to the storm, but I soon became accustomed to it, and before I left, though thoroughly parboiled,

actually enjoyed it. On the third night after my arrival, there an unlucky movement, while asleep, broke the crust on which I reposed, and the hot steam pouring upon my hip scalded it severely. Before I could escape. This new affliction, added to my frost bitten feet already festering, was the cause of frequent delays and unceasing pain through all my wanderings. I had little else to do during my imprisonment but cook,

think and sleep. Selfish as the thought may seem, there was nothing I so much desired as a companion in misfortune, how greatly it would alleviate my distress. What a relief it would be to compare my wretchedness with that of a brother's sufferer, and with him devise expedients for every exigency as it occurred. I confess to the weakness, if it be one, of having squandered much pity upon myself during the time I had little else to do. Nothing

gave me more concerned than the want of fire. I recalled everything I had ever read or heard of the means by which fire could be produced, but none of them were within my reach. An escape without it was simply impossible. It was indispensable as a protection against night attacks from wild beasts. Exposure to another storm like the one just over would destroy my life, as this one would have done, but for the warmth derived from the springs.

As I lay in my bower anxiously awaiting the disappearance of the snow, which had fallen to the depth of a foot or more, a gleam of sunshine lit up the bosom of the lake, and with it the thought flashed upon my mind that I could, with a lens from my opera glasses, get fire from heaven, subjecting it to the test of experiment. I saw the smoke curl from the bit of dry wood and my fingers. If the whole world were offered me for it, I would

cast it all aside. Before parting that little spark, I set to work, making preparations for as early departure as my condition would permit. I had lost both knives since parting from the company, but I now made a convenient substitute by sharpening the tongue of a buckle which I had cut from my vest. With this, I cut the legs and counters from my boots, making them a passable pair of slippers, which I fastened to my feet as firmly as I could strips of bark with the rattlings

from a linen handkerchief. Aided by this magic buckle tongue, I mended my clothing. Of the same material, I made a fish line, which, on finding a piece of red tape in one of my pockets better suited to the purpose, I abandoned as a bad job. I made of a pin that I found in my coat official, and by sewing up the bottoms of my bootlegs, constructed a good pair of pouches to carry my food. In fastening them to my belt by the straps, I said to myself,

I will not despair. On the morning of the day after my arrival at the springs, I bade them a final farewell and started on my course across the neck of the peninsula between me and the southeast arm of yellow Stone Lake. Weakened by a long fast and the unsatisfied nature of the only food I could procure, I know that from this time onward to the day of my rescue, my mind was in a condition to receive

impressions akin to insanity. I was constantly traveling in dream land and indulging in strange reverie such as I had never before known. I seemed to possess a sort of duality of being, which, while constantly reminding me of the necessities of my condition, fed my imagination with vagaries of

the most extravagant character. Nevertheless, I was perfectly conscious of the tendency of these morbid influence is, and often tried to shake them off, But they would ever return with increased force, and I finally reasoned myself into the belief that their indulgence, as it afforded me pleasure, could work no harm. While it did not interfere with my plans for deliverance. Thus I lived in a world of ideal happiness and in a world of positive suffering. At the

same time. A change in the wind and an overcast sky, accompanied by cold, brought with them a need of warmth. I drew out my lens and touch wood, but alas there was no sun, I sat down on a log to await his friendly appearance. Hours passed, he did not come. Cold freezing night set in. He found me exposed to all its terrors. A bleak hillside sparsely covered with pines,

afforded poor accommodations for a half clad, famished man. I could only keep from freezing by the most active exertion in walking, rubbing, striking my benumbed feet and hands against the logs. At the time it seemed the longest, most terrible night of my life. And when the approaching dawn enabled me to commence retracing my steps to Bessie Lake, I arrived there at noon, built my first fire on the beach, and remained by it, recuperating for the succeeding

two days. The faint hope that my friends might be delayed by their search for me until I could rejoin them, now forsook me Altogether, I made my arrangements independent of it. I there of three directions I might take would affect my escape if life and strength held out. I drew upon the sand map. Of each. One was the follow Snake River, a distance of one hundred miles or more

to Eagle Rock Bridge. Another to cross the country between the southern shore of Yellowstone Lake and the Madison Mountains by scaling, which I could reach the settlements in the Madison Valley. And the other to retrace my journey over the long and discouraging route by which I had entered

the country. The last mentioned seemed the least inviting. I had heard and read so much concerning the desolation and elemental upheavals and violet waters of the upper valley of the Snake, that I dared not attempt to return in that direction. The route by the Madison Range, encumbered by the single obstruction of the mountain barrier, was much the shortest, and so most unwisely as well hereafter appear I adopted it. All that day I traveled over timber heats, amid tree tops,

and through thickets. At noon, I took the precaution to obtain fire with a brand, which I kept alive by frequent blowing and constant waving to and fro. At a late hour in the afternoon, faint and exhausted, I kindled a fire for the night on the only vacant spot I could find amid a dense wilderness of pines. The burn on my hip was so inflamed that I could only sleep in a sitting posture with my back against a tree, the smoke from the fire almost enveloping me

and its suffocating folds. I vainly tried to woo the drowsy god. My imagination was instinct with terror. I could see the blazing eyes of a formidable forest monster fixed upon me. I fancied that I heard the swift approach of a pack of yelping wolves through the distant brushwood, coming to tear me limb from limb. Whenever, by fatigue or weakness, my terror yielded to drowsiness, the least noise

roused me to a sense of the hideousness of my condition. Once, in a fitful slumber, I fell forward into the fire and inflicted a wretched burn on my hand with what agony, I loaned for day. Another day of unceasing toil among the tree tops and thickets overtook me near sunset, standing upon a lofty headland jutting into the lake in front of me at a distance of fifty miles away, and the clear blue of the horizon rose the arrowy peaks

of the three Tetons. On the right rolled the picturesque range of the Madison, scarred with clefts, ravine, gorges and canyons. Above where I stood were the lofty domes of mounts Langford and Done, And rising seemingly from the promontory which favored my vision was the familiar summit of Mount Everts, at the base of which I had dwelt so long, and which still seemed to hold me within its friendly shadow.

With a lighted brand in my hand, I effected a most difficult and arduous descent of the abrupt and stony headland to the beach of the lake. The sand was soft and yielding. I kindled a fire and removed the stiffened slippers from my feet, attached them to my belt, and wandered barefoot along the sandy shore to gather wood

for the night. The dry warm sand was most grateful to my lacerated and festering feet, And for a long time after my woodpile was supplied, I sat with them uncovered at length, conscious of the need of every possible protection from the freezing night. I sought my belt for the slippers, and one was missing, and gathering the wood had become detached and was lost. Darkness was closing over

the landscape. When sorely disheartened with the thought of passing the night with one foot exposed of freezing temperature, I commenced a search for the missing slipper. I knew I could not travel a day without it, Fearful that it had dropped into the lake and had been carried by

some recurrent wave beyond recovery. I searched for an hour among fallen trees and bushes, up the hillside and along the beach, in darkness, with flaming brands, at one moment crawling on hands and feet into a brush, heat, another peering among logs and bushes and stones. No language can describe the joy with which I drew the cause of so much distress from beneath the limb, that as I passed,

had tore it from my belt. With great relief. I now sat down in the sand, my back to a log and listened to the dash and roar of the waves. It was a wild lullaby, but it had no terrors. For a worn out man, I never passed a night of more refreshing sleep. When I awoke, my fire was extinguished, save for a few embers, which I soon fanned into

a cheerful flame. I ate breakfast and started along the beach in pursuit of a camp, believing that if successful, I should find directions what to do and food to sustain me. The search which I was making lay in the direction of my pre arranged route to the Madison Mountains, which I intended to approach at their lowest point of altitude.

Boyed by the hope of finding food and counsel, and another night of undisturbed repose was in the sand, I resumed my journey along the shore, and at noon found the camp last occupied by my friends on the lake. A dinner fork, which afterwards proved to be of infinite service and digging roots, and a yeast powder can which would hold half a pint, and which I converted into a drinking cup and dinner pot. Were the only evidences that the spot had ever been visited. Why did they

forget to leave me food? It never occurring to me that they might have cashed it, as I have since learned, they did in several spots nearer the place of my separation from them. An hour of sunshine in the afternoon enabled me to procure fire, which I carried to my camping place. There I built a fire, and to protect myself from the wind, which was blowing violently, lashing the lake into foam, I made a bower of pine bows crept under it. Very soon fell asleep. I was aroused

by the snapping and cracking of the burning foliage. My left hand was badly burned, and my hair singed closer than a barber would have trimmed it. While making my escape from the semicircle of burning trees. The grandeur of

the burning forests surpasses description. An immense sheet of flame following to their tops, the lofty trees of an almost impenetrable pine forest, leaping madly from top to top, and sending thousands of forked tongues a hundred feet or more athwart the midnight darkness, lighting up with lurid glare the

surrounding scenery of lake and mountain. I never before saw anything so terribly beautiful, on on on, and favored by the gale, the conflagration spread with lightning swiftness over an illimitable extent of country, filling the atmosphere with iving clouds of suffocating fume, and leaving a blackened trail of spectral trunks, shorn of limbs and foliage, smoking and burning. Among the disasters of this fire, there was none I felt more seriously than the loss of my buckle, tongue, knife, my pin,

fish hook, and tape fish line. Resolved to search for a trail no longer. When daylight came, I selected for a landmark, the lowest notch in the Madison Range. All the day until nearly sunset, I struggled over rugged hills, through windfalls, thickets, and matted forests, with the rock ribbed beacon constantly in view. As I advanced, it receded, as if in mockery of my toil, Night overtook me, with my journey half accomplished. Before daylight, I was on my way.

Long before I arrived at the base of the range. I scanned hopelessly it's insurmountable difficulties, an endless succession of inaccessible peaks and precipices, rising thousands of feet sheer and bare above the plain. No friendly gorge or gully or canyon invited such an effort as I could make to scale this rocky barrier. I seated myself on a rock upon the summit of a commanding hill and cast my eyes along the only route which now seemed tenable, down

the yellow Stone. How many dreary miles of forest and mountain filled this terrible panorama. I thought that before accepting this discouraging alternative, I would spend a day in search for a pass twenty miles at most would take me into the Madison Valley, and thirty more restore me to friends who had abundance. Supposing that I should find plenty of thistles, I had left the lake with a small supply, and that was entirely spent. I looked in vain for

them where I then was. While I was thus considering whether to remain and search for a passage or returned to the Yellowstone, I experienced one of those strange hallucinations which many of my friends have misnamed insanity, but which to me was providence. An old clerical friend for whose character and counsel I had always cherished peculiar regard in some unaccountable manner, seemed to be standing before me, charged

with advice which would relieve my perplexity. I seemed to hear him say, go back immediately, as rapidly as your strength will permit. There is no food here, and the idea of scaling these rocks is madness. Doctor. The distance is too great. I cannot live to travel it, say not. So. Your life depends upon the effort. Return at once. Start now, lest your resolution falter. Travel as fast and as far as possible. It is your only chance. Doctor. I am rejoiced to meet you in this hour of distress, but

doubt the wisdom of your counsel. Just over these rocks, a few miles away, I shall find friends. My shoes are nearly worn out, my clothes are in tatters, my strength is almost overcome. As a last trial, it seems to me, I can but attempt to scale this mountain, or perish in the effort. Don't think of it. Your

power of endurance will carry you through. I will accompany you Overcome by these and other persuasions, and delighted with the idea of having a traveling companion, I plodded my way over the route I had come, intending at a certain point to change it so as to strike the river at the foot of the lake. Yeah. Whenever I was disposed, as was often the case, to question the wisdom of the change of roots, my old friend appeared to be near with words of encouragement, but his reticence

on other subjects both surprised and annoyed me. Really, I lost all sense of time. Days and nights came and went, and were numbered only by the growing consciousness that I was gradually starving. I felt no hunger, did not eat to appease appetite, but to renew strength. I experienced but little pain. The gaping sores on my feet, the severe burn on my hip, the festering crevices at the joints of my fingers, all terrible in appearance, had ceased to

give me the least concern. The roots which supplied my food had suspended the digestive power of the stomach, and their fibers were packed in it in a matted, compact mass.

Not so with my hours of slumber. I would visit the most gorgeously decorated restaurants in New York and Washington, sit down to immense tables spread with the most appetizing viands, partake of the richest oyster stews and plumpest pies, engage myself in the labor and preparation of curious dishes, and with them fill range upon range of elegantly furnished tables until they fairly groaned beneath the accumulated dainties prepared by my own hands. It was a cold, gloomy day when

I arrived in the vicinity of the falls. I had no heart to gaze upon a scene which a few weeks before had inspired me with rapture and awe. One moment of sunshine was of more value to me than all the marvels amid which I was famishing. But the sky was overcast and denied me all hope of obtaining fire. The only alternative was to seek shelter in a thicket. The coldness increased through the night. Constant friction with my hands and unceasing beating with my legs and feet saved

me from freezing. It was the most terrible night of my journey, And when, with the early dawn I pulled myself into a standing posture, it was to realize that my right arm was partially paralyzed, my limbs so stiffened with cold as to be almost immovable. Fearing lest paralysis should suddenly seize the entire system, I literally dragged myself through the forest to the river. Seated near the verge of the great canyon below the falls, I anxiously awaited

the appearance of the sun. That great luminary never looked so beautiful as when a few moments afterwards he emerged from the clouds and exposed his glowing beams to the concentrated power of my lens. I kindled a mighty flame, fed it with every dry stick and broken tree top I could find, and, without motion, and almost without sense, remained beside it for several hours. The great falls of the yellow Stone were roaring within three hundred yards, and

that awful canyon yawned almost at my feet. They had lost all charm for me. I longed for death, not less as the beginning of happiness than as a release from misery. But my thoughts would revert to the single being on whom my holiest affections centered my daughter. Could I be restored to her for a single hour long enough for parting, counsel and blessing, it would be joy unspeakable.

Long hours of painful travel were relieved of physical suffering by this absorbing agony of the mind, which, when from my present standpoint I contrasted with the personal calamities of my exile, swells into mountains. Soon after leaving Tower Falls, I entered the open country. Pine forest and windfalls were changed for sage brush and desolation, with occasional tracks of stinted verdure barren hillsides exhibiting here and there an isolated clump of dwarf trees and ravines filled with a rocky

debris of adjacent mountains. My first camp on this part of the route, for the convenience of getting wood, was made near the summit of a range of towering foothills. Towards morning, a storm of wind and snow nearly extinguished my fire. It was still raging when I arose, and the ground white with snow. I had lost my course of travel. No visible object seen through the almost blinding storm reassured me there was no alternative but to find

the river and take my direction from its current. Fortunately, after a few hours of stumbling and scrambling among rocks and overcrest, I came to the precipitous side of the canyon through which it ran, and with much labor both of hands and feet, descended it to the margin. I drank copiously of its pure waters, and sat beside it for a long time, waiting for the storm to abate. Chilled through my tattered clothing saturated, I saw before me a night of horrors unless I returned to the fire.

The scramble up the side of the rocky canyon, in many places nearly perpendicular, was the hardest work of my journey. Often, while clinging to the jutting rocks with hands and feet to reach a shelving projection, my grasp would unclose and I would slide many feet down the sharp declivity. It was night when, sore from bruises, I reached my fire. The storm, still raging, had nearly extinguished it. I found a few embers in the ashes, and with much difficulty,

kindled a flame here on this bleak mountain side. As well as I now remember, I must have passed two nights beside the fire in the storm. Many times during each night I crawled to a little clump of trees to gather wood and brush and the broken limbs of fallen tree tops. All the sleep I obtained was snatched from the intervals which divided these labors. It was so harassed with frightful dreams as to afford little rest. I remembered before I left this camp, stripping up my sleeves

to look at my shrunken arms. Flesh and blood had apparently left them. The skin clung to the bones like wet parchment. A child's hand could have clasped them from wrist to shoulder. I hobbled on my course through the snow, which was rapidly disappearing before the rays of the warm sun. Well knowing that I should find no thistles in the open country. I had filled my pouches with them before

leaving the forest. My supply was running low. There was several days of heavy mountain travel between me and Botler's ranch. With the most careful economy, it could last but two or three days longer. One day, while ascending a steep hill, I fell from exhaustion into a sage brush, without the power to rise unbuckling my belt, as was my custom, I soon fell asleep. I have no idea of the time I slept, but upon awakening I fastened my belt,

scrambled to my feet, and pursued my journey. As night drew on, I selected a camping place, gathered wood into a heat, and felt from my lens to procure fire. It was gone. If the earth had yawned to swallow me,

I would not have been more terrified. I seemed to feel the grim messenger, who had been long pursuing me, knocking at the portals of my heart as I lay down by the side of the woodpile and covered myself with limbs and sage brush, with the dreadful conviction that my struggle of life was over and I should rise no more. With the rapidity of lightning, I ran over every event of my life. Thoughts doubled and trebled upon me, until I saw, as if in vision, the entire past

of my existence. It was all before me, as if painted with a sunbeam, and all seemingly faded like the phantoms of a vivid dream. I summoned all the powers of my memory, thought over every foot of the day travel and concluded that the glass must have become detached from my belt while sleeping, five long miles over the hills, must be retraced to regain it. There was no alternative, and before daylight I had staggered over half the distance. I found the lens on the spot where I had slept.

No incident of my journey brought with it more of joy and relief. I resumed my journey the next morning with the belief that I should make no more fires with my lens. I must save a brand or perish. The day was raw and gusty, and east wind charged with storm penetrated my nerves with irritating keenness. After walking a few miles, the storm came on, and a coldness unlike any other I had ever felt seized me, had entered all my bones. I attempted to build a fire,

but could not make it burn. Seizing a brand, I stumbled blindly on, stopping within the shadow of every rock and clump to renew energy for a final conflict for life, a solemn conviction that death was near, that at each pause I made my limbs would refuse further service, and that I should sink, helpless and dying in my path overwhelmed me with terror. Amid all this tumult of the mind, I felt that I had done all I could do. I knew that in two or three days more I

could affect my deliverance. And I derived no little satisfaction from the thought that, as I now was in the broad trail, my remains would be found, and my friends relieved of doubt as to my fate. Groping along the side of the hill, I became suddenly sensible of a sharp reflection, as of burnished steel. Looking up through half closed eyes, two rough but kindly faces met my gaze. Are you, mister Evarts, Yes, all that's left of him? We have come for you. Who sent you Judge Larrence

and other friends? God bless him and them you I am saved. And with these words, powerless of further effort, I fell forward into the arms of my preservers, in a state of unconsciousness, on the very brink of the river which divides the known from the unknown. Strong arms snatched me from the final plunge, and kind ministrations wooed me back to life. In two days I was sufficiently recovered in strength to be moved twenty miles down the trail to the cabin of some miners who were prospecting

in the vicinity. The night after my arrival at the cabin, while suffering the most excruciating agony, and thinking that I had only been saved to die among friends, a hunter whose life was spent among the mountains, listened to the story of my sufferings. Why Lord, bless you, If that's all I have the very remedy you need in two hours time, all shall be well with you. He returned in a moment with a sack filled with the fat of a bear. From this he rendered out a pint

measure of oil. I drank the whole of it. The next day I was freed from pain, with appetite and digestion reestablished. In a day or too, I took leave of my kind friends, meeting the carriage on my way, I proceeded to Bozeman, where I remained among old friends until my health was sufficiently restored to allow me to

return to my home in Helena. My heartfelt thanks are due to the members of the expedition, all of whom devoted seven and some of them twelve days to the search for me before they left Yellowstone Lake and to Judge Lawrence of Helena, in the offer of reward, which sent Baronet and Pritchett to my rescue. My narrative is finished.

In the course of events. The time is not far distant when the wonders of the Yellowstone will be made accessible to all lovers of sublimity, grandeur and novelty, and natural scenery and its majestic waters become the abode of

civilization and refinement. And when that arrives, I hope, in happier mood and under more auspicious circumstances, to revisit scenes fraught for me with such thrilling interests, to ramble along the glowing beach of Bessie Lake, to sit down amid the hot springs under the shade of Mount Everts, to thread unscarred the mazy forest, retrace the dreary journey to the Madison Range, and with enraptured fancy, gaze upon the mingled glories and terrors of the great balls and marvelous canyon,

and to enjoy in happy contrast with the trials, they recall their power to delight, elevate, and overwhelm the mind with wondrous and majestic beauty, remember the slant on your bags, lad in your eyes. It was the coldest wins, its

longest ear. We want to dry. I weren't dry once we can WoT sink bot I had h Thirty seven Days of Peril was written by Truman Evarts, performed by Ben Boarn and adapted by Alexander Williams, with the voices of Matt Frederick, Noel Brown, and Nathaniel Maloney, and special thanks to Trevor Young and Max Williams. The song Warm and Draw was used courtesy of the band un and US. Listen to the album at you me and us dot bandcamp dot com for links to the unabridged story and

more on everything you heard. Hre searching further than a Femily dot Chew