66 THE PLAINS. 



lost in, but for these Buttes. I had wounded an ante- 

 lope, and was following it slowly on the broad plain, 

 about four miles from the Buttes, when I saw coming 

 swiftly down upon me a dense snow-cloud. I felt for 

 my compass. 1 had left it in camp. Eealising the full 

 danger of a night on that plain in a snow-storm, I at once 

 took the only means left me of assuring my course. If 

 I could reach the Buttes I could find my camp. Turning 

 my horse so that his head pointed directly to the Butte, 

 I waited the advent of the storm. In a few moments it 

 struck us, staggering the horses with its force, and shut- 

 ting out everything beyond a circle of a few feet. Noting 

 exactly the direction of the wind, with reference to the 

 position of myself and horse, I started, marching with the 

 utmost care, in a direct line, and in something over an 

 hour was rewarded by striking the Butte. My camp was 

 scarcely a mile away across a spur of the plain, and I felt 

 certain, as did the men with me, of its direction. But 

 darkness was coming on, and the cloud of snow was so 

 dense that I determined to risk nothing to instinct. 



Taking a ravine from the Butte, I followed it down to 

 the creek, then followed the creek up and arrived safely in 

 camp, where I found all greatly alarmed for our safety. 



Next day it was clear, and I went back to the Butte 

 (being sure of my compass this time) to verify my 

 instinct. I found, from the horse-tracks, that if we had 

 taken the course we all thought the correct one from the 

 Butte, we should have gone directly on to the high plain, 

 away from our camp, and of course into great danger. I 

 supplied the need of a compass by travelling ' by the 

 wind ' and ' by ravines ; ' but, though I came out ' all right,' 

 our position was so critical, and I felt so keenly the 

 responsibility of all our lives jeopardised by my negli- 

 gence, that I have never since been without a compass 

 when on the plains. 



One of the most painful and annoying consequences 

 of winter travel on the plains is getting c snow-blind.' Not 



