182 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 



from the mountain presented an almost impassable 

 barrier. At last the edge of the river was reached, 

 but he found another difficulty. Great piles of 

 rocks barred the way, and the steep declivity pre- 

 cluded all possibility of getting down. The sound 

 of the running and babbling water as it dashed over 

 the stones in the river-bed was maddening. Dyche 

 struggled along, over bowlders and under logs, and 

 through bushes which held him back as if leagued 

 with the powers of darkness to restrain him in his 

 efforts. Darkness came on and still he struggled on, 

 fearing all the while that he would fall into some 

 hole in the rocks from which he could never get out. 

 Feeling his way, he finally emerged, but he was 

 worse off than before, for here the fallen timber, 

 overgrown with bushes and briers, was so heavy 

 that it made a dense jungle. At times he would 

 run against a great rock that stood higher than 

 his head, and then he would get into a tangle of 

 briers so thick that minutes were spent in getting 

 through. 



His exhaustion was now so great and his thirst so 

 maddening that the naturalist tore his way through 

 the briers and underbrush, unmindful of the cuts and 

 scratches. He was in a frightful condition, and felt 

 that his brain was turning from his tormenting thirst. 

 A patch of "devil's walking-sticks," a shrub whose 

 curved thorns hold all they catch, barred his way, 

 and he felt as if Satan himself had lent a hand to 

 keep him from getting water. At last, however, 

 he reached the river. A log reaching from the 

 bank gave him access to the water, and after wash- 



