ough the river was at the time
covered with drifting ice.

Having seen our companions embarked on their perilous voyage through the
almost unknown country to the southeast, we set off westward on our
ascent of the stream which they were descending. Despite a snowstorm and
the ice in the river, we crossed and recrossed the channel, until at
last we rediscovered the camps and trace of the Spaniards, which here
indicated a force of fully six hundred soldiers.

After this we marched steadily upstream, along the trace, for over two
weeks, despite the hindrance and annoyance resulting from the weakness
of the greater number of our horses, three or four of which had finally
to be abandoned. Unfortunately we lacked both the skill and the means to
replace the beasts from the herds of spirited wild horses which we
frequently saw interspersed among the great droves of buffaloes. Yet
despite the depletion of our pack train and the grim prospect of being
weather-bound for the Winter out on these bleak plains, we felt assured
that where the Spaniards had led the way we could follow, and so pushed
on into the wilderness, ever farther and farther from home and
civilization.

Since the second day after leaving the Pawnee Republic we had
encountered none of the savage habitants of the prairies. But now at
last we were again put on our guard by the discovery of occasional
Indian signs along the river banks. As a precaution against falling into
an ambuscade, Pike and I took to scouting some little distance in
advance of the party.

On the fifteenth of November, a day ever memorable to us, we were riding
along in this manner, when, two hours or so after noon, as we topped one
of the numerous hills, the Lieutenant abruptly drew rein and pointed off
to the right.

"Indians?" I demanded, looking to the priming of my rifle.

"No," he replied. "Wait."

At the sight of his levelled spyglass, I too stared off a little to
north of west, and at once made out what appeared to be a faint,
half-luminous point of cloud. Its color was a spectral silvery blue,
much like that of the moon when seen in the daytime. Before I could
utter the word that sprang to my lips, my friend forestalled me.

"'Tis a mountain!--the Mexican mountains, John!"

I caught the spyglass which he thrust out to me, and fixed it upon that
distant peak with burning eagerness. The Mexican mountains, the fabled
sierras of New Spain! Had we at last sighted the snowy crest of