A PLUNGE IN THE OVERFLOW.
Perhaps about nine o'clock, I came to a body of water, which I mistook for another shallow pond, such as had been previously encountered, but in a little time I was in swimming water, in a strong, rapid current. The horse, as badly panic stricken as the rider, could not, or would not swim and was soon rolling down the current like a barrel. For some time I could not detach my feet from the little yankee stirrups. When released, I swam until able to stand a moment with head above water.
The horse was out in the current and neighed pitifully for help. Swimming out to him and catching the bridle, we successfully landed on the same side we started in. Although it was a cool evening, instead of having my only coat on, it hung carelessly on the horn of the saddle, and my Alabama saddle bags and a pair of blankets were thrown loosely across the saddle with some provisions. All these floated down the river. With the lariat, which had fortunately been saved, the horse was picketed on the leeside of a bunch of willows. Covered with the wet saddle blanket, he fared fairly well in the luxuriant grass. To save myself from freezing, I cut with my big jack-knife a lot of willow twigs, and piled them in a heap. Wiggling myself into the center of this, I found a perfect shield from the raw wind and never had a more comfortable, sound sleep all night.
I was disgusted with myself in the morning to discover this was the crossing place of the Canadian river of the emigrants who had been traveling up the North side and that when striking their road the night before, 'twas my fate to take the wrong end and was on the back track to Fort Smith, when entering the river.