RECONNAISSANCE OF THE ROUTE, 229 
dark we gained the bottom of the ravine, whence the sight of the curling smoke and bright fire- 
light had advised us where to look for the rest of the party. The night was clear and frosty, and 
the clear sparkling brook washing the small stones in its bed, with the wooded and dark slopes 
shutting us in, made our encampment strangely unlike the bare prairie to which we were accus- 
tomed. 
The next day we completed the descent, passed between the remaining two of the Three 
Buttes, and before night were again on the smooth prairie, and encamped that night at dark about 
twelve miles south of the most westerly of the Buttes, without water or wood. Our course was 
to the Marias river, and we hoped to fall upon some small tributary which would afford us water, 
but every promising hollow and valley only served to disappoint us with its dry bed. The ground 
continues rolling for some distance after leaving the Buttes, and some sixteen miles west of our 
camp was a very prominent and. high bluff, called Snake’s Head. We went no nearer to it. 
Game, especially buffalo, was plenty during the day. It was on this evening that I lost my 
horse. The old man, Monroe, whom I took with me as interpreter in case we fell in with any 
bands of Blackfeet, was very uneasy during our stay on the Buttes, and hardly seemed to act 
or breath freely until we were again on the prairies, and with an unobstructed sight. Passing so 
much of his life among the Indians, he had all their superstitious fears; and recalling every Indian 
story of combat and murder connected with these mountains, his mind seemed really confused 
under the superstitious dread which weighed upon him, and he acted with more than ordinary 
forgetfulness. Riding side by side, his rifle must have been cocked, and the motion discharged 
the gun, the ball passing into my horse just back of my leg. I was obliged to abandon her on 
the spot, one of the party after that generally walking by turns. She was a fine mare, a pet 
with me, and as I looked back upon the spot where she had lain down exhausted, after struggling 
to follow the other horses, it was with a sadness such as one feels for the loss of a more intelligent 
object of affection. 
On the next day, September 8th, I reached Marias river, after a march of a little over twenty- 
six miles. The route was over the dry rolling prairie, and parched and sterile, occasionally 
crossing the dry bed where at some time flowed a tributary brook of the Marias river, or the 
dry and parched bottom of a shallow lake. Starting without breakfast, it was near noon before 
we found any water, and then we obtained it from some small pools of standing but palatable 
water, for which we were probably indebted to the recent rain. Marias river, where we touched 
it, has the same characteristics as lower down—flows in a deep channel twe hundred to three hun- 
dred feet below the prairie level, and though tolerably well wooded with cotton-wood, is hid from 
sight until one is close upon it. The valley is frequently broken with coulées. The bed of 
the river is two hundred to three hundred feet broad ; water at that time one hundred and fifty 
feet wide, two to four feet deep; banks eight to twelve feet high, of sand and mud. Pebbly 
bottom, swift current, water slightly milky. 
A handsome band of elk, some twenty or twenty-five in number, headed by a stately buck, 
walked leisurely past our camp on the opposite side of the river. . 
_ Fording the river here, and passing on to its western banks, some eight miles’ farther travel 
brought us to the “Trunk of the Prairie,” a box-like prairie elevation, not particularly promi- 
nent, but from whose top I obtained a fine general view of the Rocky mountains, and of the 
country at their base. Here we again saw droves of buffalo. 
After obtaining this point, I turned southeasterly towards Fort Benton, travelling in a direct 
line from the “ Knee,” by my estimate thirty-seven miles distant, and which I did not reach until 
the close of the next day, September 10. This is all prairie country, and of somewhat better 
character than to the northeast of Marias river. It is, however, very scantily watered, and is 
destitute of wood. In this distance of thirty-seven miles I passed over one considerable brook- 
bed, where there was no running water, but an abundance of good water standing in the deeper 
