If, however, they were overtaken in the wilderness by darkness, and even a menacing storm, it was a matter of but little moment, and caused no anxiety.

A shelter, of logs and bark, was soon thrown up, with a crackling fire, illuminating the wilderness, blazing before it.
A couch, as soft as they had ever been accustomed to, could speedily be spread from the pliant boughs of trees.

Upon the pack-colts there were warm blankets.

And during the journey of the day they had enjoyed ample opportunity to take such game as they might need for their supper and their morning breakfast.
At length they reached the majestic flood of the Tennessee River, and crossed it, we know not how.

Then, directing their steps toward the setting sun, they pressed on, league after league, and day after day, in toilsome journey, over prairies and through forests and across mountain-ridges, for a distance of nearly four hundred miles from their starting-place, until they reached a small stream, called Mulberry Creek which flows into the Elk River, in what is now Lincoln County.
At the mouth of Mulberry Creek the adventurous emigrant found his promised land.