The only way that seemed at all feasible was to follow the course of the
stream if possible, rather than return the course over which I had come.
There were so many bushes and trees along the bank that I had to take to
the bed and follow in the water, and as it was rocky and rough, and so
dark I could not see well how to step, I stumbled into holes and pools
up to my waist, wet as a rat. Coming to a small open place I decided I
had better camp for the night and not attempt further progress in the
darkness, and the decision was hastened by dark clouds, which began to
gather and a few sprinkles of rain began to come. There was a good patch
of grass for the mule, but all was uncomfortable for me, with the
prospect for a rainy night, but as wood was plenty I decided to make a
fire and take the chances. I looked for matches and scratched one. No
go--they were damp, and scratch as careful and quickly as I could, there
was no answering spark or flame, and darkness reigned supreme. A camp
without a fire in this wet place was not to be thought of, so I
concluded I might as well be slowly working my way down along the
stream, through thick brush and cold water, as to sit here in the cold
and wait.
So the little mule and I started on, wading the creek in thick darkness,
getting only the most dim reflected light from the sky through now and
then an opening in the trees. I did not know then how easy it was for a
grizzly to capture myself, the mule and meat and have quite a variety
for supper.
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