The Last Trail

Twilight of a certain summer day, many years ago, shaded softly down over the wild Ohio valley bringing keen anxiety to a traveler on the lonely river trail. He had expected to reach Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a welcome end to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the wilderness; but the swift, on-coming dusk made it imperative to halt. The narrow, forest-skirted trail, difficult to follow in broad daylight, apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods. His guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his services were no longer needed; his teamster was new to the frontier, and, altogether, the situation caused him much uneasiness. "I wouldn't so much mind another night in camp, if the guide had not left us," he said in a low tone to the teamster. That worthy shook his shaggy head, and growled while he began unhitching the horses. "Uncle," said a young man, who had clambered out from the wagon, "we must be within a few miles of Fort Henry." "How d'ye know we're near the fort?" interrupted the teamster, "or safe, either, fer thet matter? I don't know this country." "The guide assured me we could easily make Fort Henry by sundown."