A glance at the map will show that this long run――not quite two thousand miles from St. Joe――was across and through the wildest portion of our continent. Rugged mountains, inaccessible to the ordinary traveler, had to be crossed, and only he who was familiar with the route could do it. Tumultuous torrents had to be forded or swum, where horse and rider were often hurled far down stream before the animal could clamber up the rocky bank on the other side. Those desolate solitudes were swept by furious storms of sleet, hail and rain, vast valleys were turned into swirling lakes, and the driving snow often blinded horse and rider, so he could not see twenty feet beyond the nose of his animal.