to negotiate a treaty with the American Government, and Oregon will be given to Great Britain. The settlers are here; the country is ours, and you cannot prevent us from having it."

"I will see," was Dr. Whitman's quiet reply.

Over the plains of the Columbia in hot haste, his horse afoam, he rode on that afternoon. A great thought was seething in his brain-a mighty resolve taking possession of him. He leaped from his saddle at the door of his log-house.

"I am going to Washington," he said.

"To Washington!"

"Yes, to bring settlers to Oregon, and show up a deep-laid scheme which must be defeated."

"You cannot get there. It will be impossible at this season of the year; you will perish," said his wife, astounded at his words.

"I must go. Oregon must be saved to the United States." Twenty-four hours later he is on his way, on horseback, with a single companion, A. L. Lovejoy. Their rifles are slung to their shoulders. They have provisions enough to take them to Fort Hall. Their horses must feed upon the dried grass. They have no tents; the earth will be their bed at night. Over the blue mountains, across the lava-beds of Idaho, swept by November winds, they make their way-four hundred miles-to Fort Hall in eleven days. From there it is two hundred and fifty miles south-east to Fort Uintah. A trapper guides them over the Uintah Mountains, along gloomy defiles, through deep cañons, across treeless plains. They swim rivers filled with floating ice. They are in a country of hostile Indians, and must be ever on the watch. Terrible storms come on. They wade through deep snows. The guide loses his way. For ten days they wander.

"I am lost," said the guide.

"You stay and feed the horses on cotton-wood bark, and I will find the fort," said Dr. Whitman.

They remained in a cotton-wood grove, and he departed, reached the fort, obtained provisions, fresh horses, another guide, returned, and pushed on to the Grand River, which farther down becomes the Colorado. It was six hundred yards across it, and the water frozen far out from the shore. In the middle the current was sweeping dark and deep.

The doctor mounts his horse, and Mr. Lovejoy and the guide push the animal into the swirling, ice-cold stream. The current bears them away.

Will not horse and rider be chilled to death before they gain the other shore? Terrible the suspense. They reach the ice on the farther side; the doctor springs from his saddle, the horse leaps upward; they are safe. Mr. Lovejoy and the guide follow, and cross in safety. They kindle

a fire, rub their horses dry, and push on. For thirty days they are amid the mountains, threading their way along the gloomy defiles of Colorado, killing one by one their packmules for food, climbing lofty mountains, wading through deep snows, emerging at last into the valley of the Rio Grande, finding themselves at Santa Fé.

On the coldest day of the year, January 13, 1843, Dr. Whitman and Mr. Lovejoy and their guide are on the mountains between the Rio Grande and the head-waters of the Arkansas River. The cold is intense. A terrible snow-storm comes on. Their mules refuse to climb the steep ascent. The travellers see their peril: they must go back and wait till the storm is over. They attempt to return, but their tracks are covered by the whirling snow. Dr. Whitman commends himself to the care of Almighty God, and lies down in the snow, never, so far as he can see, to rise again. Has he come so far to perish at last? Are all his heroic efforts to save Oregon to his beloved country to result in failure? The guide is watching his mule. He notices that the animal is working his ears in a peculiar way.

"The mule will take us out!" he shouts.

They spring to their feet, give the mule his liberty. Down, down they go, through deep drifts, along frightful precipices-the mule picking its way-down into the forest. The guide falls. Dr. Whitman and Mr. Lovejoy leave him, following the mule, which suddenly stops, and they find themselves at the place where they camped the night before. The brands of their last night's fire are still burning. They pile on fresh wood,

warm themselves a moment, and then go back, and bring in the guide. They chafe his frozen feet with snow and wrap him in their blankets till life and strength return. Day after day the storm howls through the forest. When milder weather comes they climb once more the mountainside, cross its lofty summit, descend the eastern slope, and reach Bent's Fort, on the Arkansas. Mr. Lovejoy is so exhausted that he can go no farther; but after a few days' rest Dr. Whitman is in the saddle, riding down the valley. A few weeks later he is in St. Louis.

April comes, and a man with unshaven face, haggard, worn, emaciated, wearing coat, pantaloons, and cap of buffalo fur, stands before Daniel Webster, Secretary of State, at Washington, who has just made a treaty with Lord Ashburton, for Great Britain, defining the boundary from Nova Scotia to the Rocky Mountains. No mention of Oregon is made; the question as to who owns it is left unsettled.

"I have come from Oregon to lay before you the importance of securing that country to the United States," said the man from the West.

"Indeed! But Sir George Simpson, Governor of the Hudson's Bay Territory, informs me that the whole country is of little value," said Mr. Webster.

"I have lived in Oregon six years, and know to the contrary. It has great value."

"Sir George Simpson informs me that it will be impossible ever to get there with a wagon."

"On the other hand, I have taken a wagon there."

So runs the report of the interview between Dr. Whitman and Daniel Webster.

John Tyler was President, and Dr. Whitman hastened to see him.

"I have made my way from Oregon to Washington, braving every danger, to prevent the consummation of a scheme which will give one of the fairest sections of our country-which is ours by right of Captain Gray's discovery-to Great Britain. I would save it, with its mighty forests, far-reaching plains, its great rivers, its unparalleled resources, to our beloved country."

"Your journey, encountering such hardships and dangers, is a convincing argument of the value of that territory. You shall have every encouragement to take settlers there," was the warm-hearted response of the President.

From the Missouri westward winds a train of two hundred wagons, and a company of eight hundred emigrants, under the lead of Dr. Whitman, escorted and protected by United States soldiers. The caravan