562 FROM CANTONMENT STEVENS TO OLYMPIA. 
The trail leads through a fine prairie for four miles to another large lake, along the eastern shore 
of which we commenced the ascent of a mountain ridge. 
To the summit is one mile, and ten days’ labor would render it good for wagons. Thence the 
road is over a rolling country, timbered with scattering pines for seven miles, to the south branch 
of the Cceur d’Alene. Here, in a fertile valley, are four lakes, connected by narrow, deep streams. 
We crossed where the various streams or outlets unite and form the inlet to a large lake one mile 
below the crossing, which stretching to the northwest four miles, then bends to the southwest, 
and is hidden by mountains coming down to the south shore. 
We encamped immediately after crossing, as there is no water within a day’s march beyond. 
Upon the narrow tongue of land formed by the junction of the outlet of the lakes, and separated 
from our camp by only the width of the stream, were several lodges of Coeur d’Alene Indians, 
living in huts of bark and mats. They are principally old and decrepit people, and present a 
squalid, miserable appearance. Their chief food is fish and roots, of which they had a small 
supply, placed on scaffolds to preserve it from the dogs. Two old women crossed our baggage 
in canoes, for which I paid them fifty loads of ammunition, five feet of tobacco, and a few beads, 
fish-hooks, and rings. 
During the night a legion of Indian dogs came across the river and began an attack upon our 
camp. It was simply a foraging expedition, and their appetites rejected nothing, even bridles, 
parfleches, lariats, &. They kept me awake all night, and, in spite of my vigilance, devoured a 
fine lariat which I valued highly. The horses several times attempted to cross the river and take 
the “back track;” but as they must pass through the camp to do so, they awakened us, and we 
drove them back. It is thus animals are generally lost; they take the back track, for some 
unknown reason, and by morning are many miles from camp. 
October 2.—Morning cloudy. The Indians were singing and praying nearly all night, and con- 
tinued it this morning. Started early. The trail leads along the shore of the lake above us; the 
beach is of basaltic rock, in small fragments. Leaving the lake, we ascended a narrow valley, 
occasionally crossing the dry bed of a small stream, and in four miles reached the summit of 
the ridge, to which point the road is good for wagons, with little work; thence the country is 
generally rolling, sparsely timbered with pine, little undergrowth, and plenty of grass. The soil 
is an ashy loam. In ten miles passed a large prairie on the right, and in two more struck an 
extensive prairie stretching beyond view to the west; character rolling, and soil a black, sandy 
loam. This I suppose to be the Camash prairie of the Coeur d’Alenes. Struck across the prairie 
to a high ridge, and, following it to its base one mile, came to a thicket of willows surrounding a 
small spring. The water is indifferent, but there is an abundance of good grass. Here we 
encamped, as it is a long day’s march to another encamping place. Large herds of horses were 
grazing on the prairies. They belonged to the Saptin or Nez Perces Indians, several of whom 
visited our camp, and were well-behaved. 
October 8.—Morning clear and cool, with a heavy frost last night. Starte early, passing along 
the base of the ridge, and over a good wagon road for one mile, when we began the ascent. It 
is a hill of six hundred feet elevation, of an easy ascent, and in one mile we reached the summit, 
when a splendid panorama opened around us—to the northeast, the blue peaks of the Bitter Root 
range; to the west, an ocean of rolling prairie; and south, on our course, the prairie stretched to 
far-distant mountains, marking, I presume, the course of the Great Snake river. Descending by 
a good road, we struck the dry bed of a creek, and followed down it. In four miles the trail 
forks, and we took the right hand, our course bearing upon a lofty pyramidal-shaped butte, tower- 
ing alone above the prairie. Crossing some low hills for two miles, we fell into another 
valley or depression, and, some distance down, observed traces of a ‘stream at some period of 
the year, and in ten miles came to a small clump of cotton-woods and willows near a pool of 
water, the first seen since our camp of last night, twenty-two miles distant. The course of the 
creek is now thinly bordered with small cotton-woods and willows. ‘Towards evening we met 
