ntil they both crossed the river. It was plain the Snake had
taken an Indian mode of recovering his horse, having quietly decamped
with him in the night.

New vows were made never more to trust in Snakes, or any other Indians.
It was determined, also, to maintain, hereafter, the strictest vigilance
over their horses, dividing the night into three watches, and one person
mounting guard at a time. They resolved, also, to keep along the river,
instead of taking the short cut recommended by the fugitive Snake, whom
they now set down for a thorough deceiver. The heat of the weather was
oppressive, and their horses were, at times, rendered almost frantic by
the stings of the prairie flies. The nights were suffocating, and it was
almost impossible to sleep, from the swarms of mosquitoes.

On the 20th of August they resumed their march, keeping along the
prairie parallel to Snake River. The day was sultry, and some of the
party, being parched with thirst, left the line of march, and scrambled
down the bank of the river to drink. The bank was overhung with willows,
beneath which, to their surprise, they beheld a man fishing. No sooner
did he see them, than he uttered an exclamation of joy. It proved to
be John Hoback, one of their lost comrades. They had scarcely exchanged
greetings, when three other men came out from among the willows. They
were Joseph Miller, Jacob Rezner, and Robinson, the scalped Kentuckian,
the veteran of the Bloody Ground.

The reader will perhaps recollect the abrupt and willful manner in
which Mr. Miller threw up his interest as a partner of the company, and
departed from Fort Henry, in company with these three trappers, and a
fourth, named Cass. He may likewise recognize in Robinson, Rezner, and
Hoback, the trio of Kentucky hunters who had originally been in
the service of Mr. Henry, and whom Mr. Hunt found floating down the
Missouri, on their way homeward; and prevailed upon, once more, to cross
the mountains. The haggard looks and naked condition of these men proved
how much they had suffered. After leaving Mr. Hunt's party, they had
made their way about two hundred miles to the southward, where they
trapped beaver on a river which, according to their account, discharged
itself into the ocean to the south of the Columbia, but which we
apprehend to be Bear River, a stream emptying itself into Lake
Bonneville, an immense body of salt water, west of the Rocky Mountains.

Having collected a considerabl