The snow had drifted and speedily grew deeper; so that ten men, on the strongest horses, were put in the van to break a trail. Thus work began early. As oft as the horse of the leader was exhausted, his rider turned out, for the rear, and the next rider took his place.
Huts entirely covered by snow, where Indians lived like field mice, were passed: the only sign of inhabitant was the single trail from the hole of a door to the foot of a pine tree, and back.
“Guide says the deepest snow air jest beginning,” on the third day announced Kit, with the advance, to the lieutenant.
“There’s no use trying to bring the animals on here, to-night,” declared the lieutenant, snow-covered and panting. Snow-covered and panting were all. “Oliver, ride down and tell Fitzpatrick to camp at those springs where we were last night; it’s more sheltered. We’ll camp where we are.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Oliver.
He met Thomas Fitzpatrick, red-faced, snowy, working like a Trojan to keep the horses and mules moving, and delivered the message. He did not stay, for the camp by the springs in the sheltered basin. He turned about; maybe the lieutenant and Kit and Mr. Preuss and Godey and Bernier would need him.
The camp of the advance squad had been made, without tents, in a group of huge pines. Against the base of one of the pines a generous fire was blazing; and when Oliver arrived, tired and cold and glad of the fire, another old Indian visitor was delivering an oration.
He spoke loudly, in a sing-song manner; and he spoke long.
“He says,” announced Kit, “that we an’ our critters can’t go further, this way. We’ll perish, sure. We must turn back, an’ he’ll show us a better way. Rock upon rock—rock upon rock; snow upon snow—snow upon snow: that’s ahead of us. If we get over, we can’t get down on t’other side; thar air precipices whar our hosses’ll slip, an’ off we’ll go.”