[XVII]
SCANT CHRISTMAS COMFORT
Not until after four or five miles of close search was any descent at all discovered. Down they scrambled, amidst rock and snow; a pack mule, slipping, rolled head over heels for 300 feet until stopped by a ravine; the howitzer must be left midway of the steep trail, for further effort; and night overtook them before they reached the bottom.
A real lake, with real grass, it was. By the lake were several dry cedars, which fed fires to guide in the rearmost of the struggling company. Finally all were safe, camp was pitched, supper was cooked, the animals grazed contentedly. Above, were gloomy pines and snow and chilling wind of winter; here below, were limpid water and tender grass and mild breeze, if not of summer then at least of spring.
Travelling along the west shore of this Summer Lake in south central Oregon (Klamath Marsh just to the west of it, and the ridge between), the company rounded the southern end, and amidst much recent Indian sign and a bleak country of marsh and sand and weeds and black volcanic rock crossed eastward to another large lake. This is Lake Abert, named by Lieutenant Frémont in honor of his colonel, J. J. Abert, Chief of the Corps of Topographical Engineers, United States Army.
Dignified and worthy of the name appeared this lake, twenty miles in length, and spread between black ridges; but as they drew near, a shiver passed through the column, for the shores were drifted high.
“Look at the snow, captain!” cried Kit.
When they drew nearer still they found that they were barred from the water itself by mud. A sickening odor filled the air, and the drifts of snow turned out to be a disgusting, powdery white substance banked high by evaporating water.
Thus deceptive proved this land into which they had been lured: a land of fair lakes which changed to fetid pools; of streams which led on until they ended only at the unwholesome lakes; of green grass sour and salt-encrusted; and of bare black ridges which gave place only to more bare and black ridges.
The Frémont and Carson company pushed on, the line straggling as the weakening animals fell behind. Somewhere in this vicinity should be Mary’s Lake; and beyond should be the Buenaventura, with rich grassy bottom-lands and much fat game to cheer the heart of all.
Save for ducks, on the mud-engirded lakes, and rabbits in the sage-brush, game here was none. Indian signs, as trails and as deserted huts of brush, were many. The expedition must advance cautiously.