rth with rain. The next
day they remained at the camp, and boiled down five gallons of lake water
which yielded fourteen pints of very fine white salt. The ensuing morning
was calm and beautiful, as is almost invariably the case during the summer
and autumnal months, throughout all that region.

They now commenced their return by the same route they had already
traversed, ascending the valley of the Bear river towards the north. Day
after day they journeyed on, without meeting much game, and their supply
of food was nearly exhausted. All the party seemed low-spirited, and
trudged along in silence. Scarcely a word was spoken. On the night of the
fourteenth they encamped on the bank of a crystal stream. It was a lovely
evening, serene and mild. But the company seemed very forlorn from
hunger. Colonel Fremont therefore consented that a fat young horse, which
he had purchased of the Indians, should be killed for food. As the company
gathered around their brilliant camp-fires, feasted on the savory horse
steak, the customary good-humor and gayety were restored.

The next day, as they were still ascending the valley, they came upon two
families of Snake Indians who were gathering herbs and roots. The berries
they were drying on buffalo robes. These two families had twelve or
fifteen horses grazing around their encampment. Soon after this they
encountered a solitary Indian, who had an antelope which he had killed.
They purchased the antelope and encamped early to enjoy the rich feast.
While they were protracting the pleasures of their repast, a messenger
came galloping into their camp saying that Mr. Fitzpatrick was within a
few miles of them, with an ample supply of provisions. They could scarcely
sleep that night for joy. The next morning before sunrise they were on the
move and soon rejoined their friends. Together they continued their
journey to the northward, encountering several lodges of Snake Indians; of
whom they purchased about a bushel of dried berries.

Leaving the valley of the Bear river they crossed over to Snake river, or
as it is sometimes called, Lewis's Fork of the Columbia river. On their
way they met an Indian family on horseback, who had been gathering what
are called service berries. At night fires were seen burning all along the
mountainsides, indicating numerous encampments of the Indians. But they
were all friendly, and the weary voyagers slept with a very happy and
grateful sense of security. On the