We crossed
the head of a canon near the summit about dark, and here we found a
trail, which from indications we knew to be that of the Jayhawkers, who
had evidently been forced to the southward of the course they intended
to take. They had camped here and had dug holes in the sand in search of
water, but had found none.
We staid all night here and dug around in some other places in the
bottom of the canon, in the hope to have better luck than they did, but
we got no water anywhere.
We seemed almost perishing for want of water, the hard exercise made us
perspire so freely. In the morning we started on, and near the summit we
came to the dead body of Mr. Fish, laying in the hot sun, as there was
no material near here with which his friends could cover the remains.
This Mr. Fish was the man who left camp some two weeks before in company
with another and who carried the long whiplash wound about his body, in
hope he could somewhere be able to trade it for bread. No doubt in this
very place where he breathed his last, his bones still lie.
As we came in sight of the next valley, we could see a lake of water
some distance south of our western course.
We had followed the Jayhawkers trail thus far, but as we found no water
in small holes in the rocks as we were likely to do when we were the
first to pass, we decided to take a new route in the hope to find a
little water in this way, for we had no hope of finding it in any other.
This valley we now crossed seemed to come to an end about ten miles to
the north of us.
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