we had now but little that could be injured by water, we rode our mules across without stopping. At 6 P. M. we reached Rio Jaroso (Willow Creek), where the trail leading to the Puerto del Carnero (Mountain-sheep Pass) branches off to the southward from that to the Coochatope Pass.

This trail leads into San Luis valley by a shorter route than that by the Coochatope, and as it would give me the opportunity of examining a region and pass entirely unknown except to Indians, and Mexicans trading with them, I selected it for our passage through the Sahwatch range. I consider it a fortunate circumstance that I came to this determination, for the pass through which we went proved to be, in many respects, superior even to the Coochatope.

When we diverged to the right to take this trail, we commenced ascending a long and narrow gorge, which led us by an easy grade to the summit of a hill, where we encamped at 7 P. M. near an abundant spring. It would be needless repetition to mention again the luxuriance of the grass which covered the valleys, hill-sides, and mountains, for all through the Sahwatch range the country maintains the same rich and fertile character.

Our last meal was in the morning, and consisted of a ball of dough, which to some bore a fancied resemblance to the old Virginia hoe-cake. The soothing effects of this delicious morsel on our stomachs had for many hours passed away and been forgotten, so that when we gathered around the camp-fire to partake of a soup of grouse shot by Peg-leg, nine men more hungry it would have been difficult to find. We saw during the day many deer and antelopes, but the only rifle in the company was Peg-leg's, and it had been so much damaged as to render it almost useless for a long shot. Day's travel, 40 miles; distance from Grand River, 91 miles.

July 2. I passed a miserable night; it was cold and frosty, with a piercing north wind. My saddle-blanket was the only covering I had, and it was worn so thin and threadbare that it imparted scarcely any warmth. We saddled up and started at sunrise, directing our course nearly due east. The trail led over a mountain covered with thick pine forests, interspersed with rich meadows, and watered by numerous clear rills, until we reached a portion of the range where a hurricane or whirlwind had, some years ago, uprooted and strewed in every direc

tion a forest of tall pine trees. Through this tangled mass we forced our way with difficulty, but finally got through and commenced a gradual descent on the eastern side of the range.

Peg-leg and myself were riding at a distance in advance of the rest of the party, when, upon crossing the summit of a hill, we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a large flock of tame goats, behind which was a band of fifty mounted Utahs, to whom they belonged. The Indians immediately gathered around us and overwhelmed us with questions; but were civil, and seemed light-hearted and merry. Most of the men had good rifles, and their horses were all in fine condition. My first thought upon meeting these Indians was the possibility of replenishing our exhausted larder with dried meat, and Peg-leg no sooner informed them that we had been on short commons for several days than they dismounted, unpacked their animals, and from their store presented me with a plentiful supply of dried buffalo, deer, and antelope flesh. Men, women, and children crowded around my mule, each handing me a parcel of meat; and, although it was apparent that they expected nothing in return, I gave them as good a supply of tobacco, powder, lead, and percussion caps as I could spare; but nothing delighted them so much as a box of lucifer matches; for, having shown them that by a simple friction they might produce a blaze, their joy was great, and each member of the band was eager to perform the feat of kindling a fire.

A garrulous old Indian, who wore, by way of distinction, a "Genin” hat, sorely battered and bruised, and which had become the property of this venerable Utah by one of those reverses of fortune to which hats are so liable, addressed us a harangue accompanied by many gestures. Peg-leg translated his meaning to me, which was to the effect, that they had been unsuccessful in the buffalo hunt, on which they depended in a great measure for their subsistence; that they had been many months in the buffalo country, but the treacherous Cheyennes and Arapahoes, had driven them off, and had killed some of their young men. He added, that of dried antelope and deer meat they had a plenty, and that we were welcome to as much as we needed. This unexpected generosity made me regret that it was out of my power to make them a suitable return, and I explained to them, that our losses in Grand River had deprived

us of the means of making them presents. He replied that what I had already given was quite sufficient.

Our party had by this time overtaken us, but fearing that the "amicable relations so happily existing" might be disturbed, I desired them not to stop, retaining only a pack animal to load with the meat which I had obtained.

With these Indians were many squaws and children. The former rode astride of the packs, and the boys, some of whom were not more than five years of age, were mounted on spirited horses, which they managed with much dexterity and grace, and were armed with small bows and arrows, two of which they held with the bow in their left hand ready for service. The chiefs invited us to encamp with them, that they might treat us with goats' milk and have a "talk;" but I considered it most prudent to separate from them before any cause of disagreement should arise to mar the good understanding that existed between us; besides, it was too early in the day for us to stop. I told them that, in the direction in which they were going, they would meet some of our friends whom we had left for a short time, and that on our return we would bring them tobacco and other presents. They promised to treat our friends well, and, after a general shaking of hands, we parted mutually pleased with each other.

We encamped at noon on a fork of Sahwatch Creek, running to the eastward through a broad grassy valley, and after a rest of two hours resumed our journey. We had not proceeded far when we noticed at a short distance to our right a singular-looking object, which appeared to be rolling rather than walking over the ground. On approaching it, it proved to be a decrepit Utah squaw, bending under the weight of two packs of buffalo robes, one of which she bore on her shoulders, whilst the other was suspended in front. She was much terrified when we galloped towards her, and, although she made a feeble attempt to fly, her shaking limbs bent under her, and she sank to the ground paralyzed with fear. We, however, reassured her, and got her to explain to us the cause of her being in this lonely region by herself, Archilete being interpreter. She told us that, three moons previous, a party of her people going to hunt buffaloes, had left her and another old woman in the mountains; as neither had horses, and they were unable to keep up with

the band on foot. She said that they had subsisted on meat left them by their tribe, and ended by telling us that she had just buried her companion, who had died the previous night, and that she was now on her way to the summer rendezvous of her people, ladened with her own and her companion's packs. We informed her that she would probably overtake a band of Utahs that night or the next day, and placed her on their trail. She seemed glad to receive this news, and still more so when we turned our mules' heads to leave her, though we had shown her all possible kindness-so hard is it in them to believe in the sincerity of white people.

The trail led over low hills and down a succession of beautiful slopes, running mostly in a southerly direction, until we entered a narrow winding valley two and a half miles in length by one hundred to two hundred yards in breadth. It was shut in on each side by perpendicular walls of rock rising from fifty to seventy-five feet above the level of the valley, whose surface was flat and carpeted with tender grass. A stream of clear water meandered through its centre, and the grade was so slight that the stream, overflowing its banks in many places, moistened the whole surface.

As we descended this beautiful and singular valley, we occasionally passed others of a similar character opening into it. It ends in Sahwatch valley, which we entered about an hour before sunset.

We had here the choice of two routes: the first was down Sahwatch valley to its outlet near the head of the valley of San Luis, which would have taken us over the same ground that we had traversed in coming from Fort Massachusetts; the second crossed Sahwatch valley here, passed over a shorter and as good a route, and entered San Luis valley near where the Garita leaves. the mountains. We selected the last route.

Coochatope Pass enters Sahwatch Valley a mile below Carnero Pass. Crossing Sahwatch valley, here half a mile broad, and the creek about ten yards in breadth and three feet in depth, we travelled up a narrow valley for a short distance into the hills, and encamped at dark. Day's travel, 47 miles; distance from Grand River, 138 miles.

July 3. During the early part of the night the mosquitos swarmed around us, but it soon became cold, which drove them

away.

We were delayed some time after sunrise in consequence of most of the mules having gone astray; they were not recovered until near seven o'clock, when we resumed our journey. Our course was generally east, down a succession of valleys, whose surface was level and moist, with hills rising abruptly on either side. We saw a great abundance of game, but killed nothing but a grouse. These mountains teem with antelope, deer, and mountain sheep.

The valleys down which we travelled, and which opened into each other with the regularity of streets, grew gradually broader as we descended. We finally entered one watered by Carnero Creek, which joins the Garita in San Luis valley, and at noon encamped a short distance above a gate or gap through which the stream passes. Half a mile below this gap there is another, and a quarter of a mile farther a third; the passage through them is level, whilst the trail around them is steep and stony. In the afternoon, we went through the first gap, made a circuit around the second, as it was much obstructed with trees and bushes, and, leaving the third on our left, rode over some low hills, and five miles from camp crossed the Garita. We were once more in San Luis valley, and all before us was a perfect level, as far as the sight could reach. We encamped on the Rio Grande del Norte, as the sun was setting behind the pass in the Sierra de San Juan, at the head of the Del Norte. This pass was in sight of us, and is the one in which Colonel Frémont met with so terrible a disaster, in the winter of 1848-49, so near was he to the object of his search, the Coochatope.

From the plains this pass appears to be more practicable than either the Carnero or the Coochatope; but it can be traversed only by mules, and by them only from the middle of August until the first snows fall, early in December. In winter it is impassable, and in spring, and until August, the River Del Norte, which flows through part of it, and is swollen with melting snows, is the principal obstruction. This pass is known to the Mexicans as the Puerto del Rio Del Norte (the Pass of the River Del Norte), but Americans call it Williams's Pass, in honor of "Old Bill Williams," who discovered it, and was Colonel Frémont's guide. Through it is the shortest road to Grand River, it being one day shorter than by the Carnero, and nearly two days shorter than by the Coochatope. The hills, for, as they appeared to us