To the south the mountains seemed to descend for more than
twenty miles, and near the base, perhaps ten miles away, were several
smokes, apparently from camp fires, and as I could see no animals or
camp wagons anywhere I presumed them to be Indians. A few miles to the
north and east of where I stood, and somewhat higher, was the roughest
piece of ground I ever saw. It stood in sharp peaks and was of many
colors, some of them so red that the mountain looked red hot, I imagined
it to be a true volcanic point, and had never been so near one before,
and the most wonderful picture of grand desolation one could ever see.
Toward the north I could see the desert the Jayhawkers and their
comrades had under taken to cross, and if their journey was as
troublesome as ours and very much longer, they might by this time be all
dead of thirst. I remained on this summit an hour or so bringing my
glass to bear on all points within my view, and scanning closely for
everything that might help us or prove an obstacle to our progress. The
more I looked the more I satisfied myself that we were yet a long way
from California and the serious question of our ever living to get there
presented itself to me as I tramped along down the grade to camp. I put
down at least another month of heavy weary travel before we could hope
to make the land of gold, and our stock of strength and provisions were
both pretty small for so great a tax upon them. I thought so little
about anything else that the Indians might have captured me easily, for
I jogged along without a thought of them.
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