From Lake Abert they moved southward, past another lake from which they were barred by mud, and Christmas Eve they camped at the south end of yet another lake.
“’Tain’t much like Christmas Eve down in Washington or in old Missouri; is it, Mistuh Frémont?” commented Jacob the colored youth.
“Oh, well, we’ll enjoy our Christmas all the more, next time, Jacob,” answered the lieutenant.
“Water an’ grass air better than usual, anyhow,” vouchsafed Kit Carson. “Might have a wuss camp.”
“’Xpect that’s our Christmas gift,” mused Jacob.
Around the camp fires they all proceeded to review the Christmas celebrations such as they knew; and there was quite a variety: Kit and Oliver could tell of the celebrations by the Mexicans in New Mexico, the lieutenant and Jacob could tell of those in the South, Mr. Preuss of those in Germany, the St. Louis French of those in St. Louis and vicinity, the Canadian French of those in Canada, Thomas Fitzpatrick recalled Christmas in trappers’ camp, Mr. Talbot that at his American home, etc.
Oliver slept late, to be awakened by a great outburst of rifle and carbine reports mingled with the “Bang!” of the howitzer. “Noël! Noël!” cheered the French. “Merry Christmas!” joined in the lieutenant. All wished each other the compliments of the season, and “Christmas Lake” was the camp place called. An extra ration of sugar was doled out, as Christmas feast. For this was Christmas Day, 1843, in the desert basin of south central Oregon.
Southward led the trail, and still southward, for on the west the snowy mountain range hedged close the course, and on the east the country was ever desolate and repulsing. No Indians were seen until, December 28, smokes were suddenly descried rising above the snowy sage-brush. On at a gallop urged the party, and came so quickly to two huts, rudely built, open at the top, that the sage fires were burning in them and baskets and rabbit skins and grass were scattered about. Now several almost naked Indians were visible, upon the near-by ridge, and others were hastily climbing to them.
“Tabibo-bo! Tabibo-bo!” they shouted—or, in the Snake language: “White! White!” And they tried to conceal themselves among the rocks.