VI 



Ttirned Round ' 165 



Tempest was abroad in his anger, yelling down the 

 valley, dashing out the water-floods with his hands, 

 laying waste the forest, and filling with dread the 

 hearts of man and beast and every living thing. 

 There was not a star or a gleam of moonlight.' At 

 last, — he was almost exhausted now, — he attempted 

 to make a little fire which with its warmth might 

 keep the warmth of his life in until the morning 

 came ; but it was a hopeless task, every twig, every 

 fir-cone was saturated through and through, so he 

 went wandering on again, stumbling and falling, 

 shouting and firing his rifle ; when suddenly, to his 

 intense joy, his signals were answered by the 

 shouts of men ; Texas Jack and a ranchman named 

 Fred Botcher, who was one of the party, had come 

 in search of him. Lord Dunraven, meanwhile, with 

 no other companion than his dog, had been sitting, 

 protected from the tempest only by an elk's hide 

 stretched between four tree -stems, feeding the 

 camp fire with birch bark and pine splinters, and 

 occasionally emitting a dismal yell to keep the 

 searchers acquainted with its whereabouts. ' Most 

 miserable was my condition,' he says, ' and I could 

 not even resort to the Dutch expedient for importing 

 courage to supply my natural allowance of that 

 quality which had quickly oozed out of my cold 

 finger tips. I had poured into a tin pannikin the 

 last drain of whisky from the keg, and had placed it 

 carefully to settle. I knew that Kingsley would 

 really want it, so I could not seek consolation in 



