They had been visited by wolves in the night, (I too had been
awakened by their howlings,) and poor William did not relish

the thought of the mountains alone, with his one little white
mule - which he called 'Cream.' He promised to do his utmost

to help with the packing, and 'not cost us a cent.' I did
not tell him how my heart yearned towards him, and how

miserably my courage had oozed away since we parted, but made
a favour of his request, and granted it. The gain, so long

as it lasted, was incalculable.
The summit of the South Pass is between 8000 and 9000 feet

above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The Pass itself is
many miles broad, undulating on the surface, but not

abruptly. The peaks of the Wind River Chain, immediately to
the north, are covered with snow; and as we gradually got

into the misty atmosphere we felt the cold severely. The
lariats - made of raw hide - became rods of ice; and the poor

animals, whose backs were masses of festering raws, suffered
terribly from exposure. It was interesting to come upon

proofs of the 'divide' within a mile of the most elevated
point in the pass. From the Hudson to this spot, all waters

had flowed eastward; now suddenly every little rivulet was
making for the Pacific.

The descent is as gradual as the rise. On the first day of
it we lost two animals, a mule and Samson's spare horse. The

latter, never equal to the heavy weight of its owner, could
go no further; and the dreadful state of the mule's back

rendered packing a brutality. Morris and Potter, who passed
us a few days later, told us they had seen the horse dead,

and partially eaten by wolves; the mule they had shot to put
it out of its misery.

In due course we reached Fort Hall, a trading post of the
Hudson's Bay Company, some 200 miles to the north-west of the

South Pass. Sir George Simpson, Chairman of that Company,
had given me letters, which ensured the assistance of its

servants. It was indeed a rest and a luxury to spend a
couple of idle days here, and revive one's dim recollection

of fresh eggs and milk. But we were already in September.
Our animals were in a deplorable condition; and with the

exception of a little flour, a small supply of dried meat,
and a horse for Samson, Mr. Grant, the trader, had nothing to

sell us. He told us, moreover, that before we reached Fort
Boise, their next station, 300 miles further on, we had to

traverse a great rocky desert, where we might travel four-
and-twenty hours after leaving water, before we met with it

again. There was nothing for it but to press onwards. It
was too late now to cross the Sierra Nevada range, which lay

between us and California; and with the miserable equipment
left to us, it was all we could hope to do to reach Oregon

before the passage of the Blue Mountains was blocked by the
winter's snow.

Mr. Grant's warnings were verified to the foot of the letter.
Great were our sufferings, and almost worse were those of the

poor animals, from the want of water. Then, too, unlike the
desert of Sahara, where the pebbly sand affords a solid

footing, the soil here is the calcined powder of volcanic
debris, so fine that every step in it is up to one's ankles;

while clouds of it rose, choking the nostrils, and covering
one from head to heel. Here is a passage from my journal:

'Road rocky in places, but generally deep in the finest
floury sand. A strong and biting wind blew dead in our

teeth, smothering us in dust, which filled every pore.
William presented such a ludicrous appearance that Samson and

I went into fits over it. An old felt hat, fastened on by a
red cotton handkerchief, tied under his chin, partly hid his

lantern-jawed visage; this, naturally of a dolorous cast, was
screwed into wrinkled contortions by its efforts to resist

the piercing gale. The dust, as white as flour, had settled
thick upon him, the extremity of his nasal organ being the

only rosy spot left; its pearly drops lodged upon a chin
almost as prominent. His shoulders were shrugged to a level

with his head, and his long legs dangled from the back of
little "Cream" till they nearly touched the ground.'

We laughed at him, it is true, but he was so good-natured, so
patient, so simple-minded, and, now and then, when he and I

were alone, so sentimental and confidential about Mary, and
the fortune he meant to bring her back, that I had a sort of

maternal liking for him; and even a vicarious affection for
Mary herself, the colour of whose eyes and hair - nay, whose

weight avoirdupois - I was now accurately acquainted with.
No, the honest fellow had not quite the grit of a

'Leatherstocking.'
One night, when we had halted after dark, he went down to a

gully (we were not then in the desert) to look for water for
our tea. Samson, armed with the hatchet, was chopping wood.

I stayed to arrange the packs, and spread the blankets.
Suddenly I heard a voice from the bottom of the ravine,

crying out, 'Bring the guns for God's sake! Make haste!
Bring the guns!' I rushed about in the dark, tumbling over

the saddles, but could nowhere lay my hands on a rifle.
Still the cry was for 'Guns!' My own, a muzzle-loader, was

discharged, but a rifle none the less. Snatching up this,
and one of my pistols, which, by the way, had fallen into the

river a few hours before, I shouted for Samson, and ran
headlong to the rescue. Before I got to the bottom of the

hill I heard groans, which sounded like the last of poor
William. I holloaed to know where he was, and was answered

in a voice that discovered nothing worse than terror.
It appeared that he had met a grizzly bear drinking at the

very spot where he was about to fill his can; that he had
bolted, and the bear had pursued him; but that he had

'cobbled the bar with rocks,' had hit it in the eye, or nose,
he was not sure which, and thus narrowly escaped with his

life. I could not help laughing at his story, though an
examination of the place next morning so far verified it,

that his footprints and the bear's were clearly intermingled
on the muddy shore of the stream. To make up for his fright,

he was extremelycourageous when restored by tea and a pipe.
'If we would follow the trail with him, he'd go right slick

in for her anyhow. If his rifle didn't shoot plum, he'd a
bowie as 'ud rise her hide, and no mistake. He'd be darn'd

if he didn't make meat of that bar in the morning.'
CHAPTER XXV

WE were now steering by compass. Our course was nearly
north-west. This we kept, as well as the formation of the

country and the watercourses would permit. After striking
the great Shoshone, or Snake River, which eventually becomes

the Columbia, we had to follow its banks in a southerly
direction. These are often supported by basaltic columns

several hundred feet in height. Where that was the case,
though close to water, we suffered most from want of it. And

cold as were the nights - it was the middle of September -
the sun was intensely" target="_blank" title="ad.激烈地；热切地">intensely hot. Every day, every mile, we were

hoping for a change - not merely for access to the water, but
that we might again pursue our westerly course. The scenery

was sometimes very striking. The river hereabouts varies
from one hundred to nearly three hundred yards in width;

sometimes rushing through narrow gorges, sometimes descending
in continuous rapids, sometimes spread out in smooth shallow

reaches. It was for one of these that we were in search, for
only at such points was the river passable.