128 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 



Once more equipped, our two hunters, filled with good 

 brandy and fat buffalo meat, again wended on their way ; 

 their late entertainers continuing their pleasure-trip across 

 the gap of the South Pass, intending to visit the great Salt 

 Lake, or Timponogos, of the West. The former were 

 bound for the North Fork of the Platte, with the intention 

 of joining one of the numerous trapping parties which 

 rendezvous at the American Fur Company's post on that 

 branch of the river. On a fork of Sweet Water, however, 

 not two days after the meeting with the Scotchman's wag- 

 gons, they encountered a band of a dozen mountaineers, 

 mounted on fine horses, and well armed and equipped, 

 travelling along without the usual accompaniment of a 

 mulada of pack-animals, two or three mules alone being 

 packed with meat and spare ammunition. The band was 

 proceeding at a smart rate, the horses moving with the gait 

 peculiar to American animals, known as "pacing" or 

 " racking" in Indian file each of the mountaineers with 

 a long heavy rifle resting across the horn of his saddle. 

 Amongst them our two friends recognised Markhead, who 

 had been of the party dispersed months before by the. Black- 

 feet on one of the head-streams of the Yellow Stone, which 

 event had been the, origin of the 'dire sufferings of Killbuck 

 and La Bonte. Markhead, after running the gauntlet of 

 numerous Indians, through the midst of whose country 

 he passed with his usual temerity and utter disregard to 

 danger, suffering hunger, thirst, and cold those everyday 

 experiences of mountain life riddled with balls, but with 

 three scalps hanging from his belt, made his way to a ren- 

 dezvous on Bear River, whence he struck out for the Platte 

 in early spring, in time to join the band he now accom- 

 panied, who were on a horse-stealing expedition to the 

 Missions of Upper California. Little persuasion did either 

 Killbuck or La Bonte require to join the sturdy freebooters. 

 In five minutes they had gone " files-about," and at sun- 

 down were camping on the well-timbered bottom of " Little 

 Sandy," feasting once more on delicate hump-rib and tender 

 loin. 



For California, ho ! 



