“I should say that—an’ more,” mused Kit, thoughtfully.
“So should I,” agreed Fitzpatrick. “We aren’t there, yet, boys; over the ridge and down means some long marches, through the snow. The snow’s likely to be heavier, on the west side. But now we know where we’re travelling.”
“From the ridge we could make out, through the glass, prairies and the line of a river bordered with timber,” explained the lieutenant. “But as Fitz says, there are some hard marches ahead.”
So there were. By sledges and snow-shoes the trail was resumed, every heart aglow with pictures of the Valley of the Sacramento; but on the level the snow was five feet deep, and in drifts was twenty feet deep. The animals failed, and must be left at each pasture, while with wooden mauls and shovels the men flattened a road, and with pine boughs paved it.
The puppy Tlamath must be added to the larder, so that for the advance there was a strange dinner, one night, of dog (cooked by Alexander Godey Indian-fashion, in pieces hide on), mule, and dried-pea soup!
Now was it the close of two weeks since from the preparatory camp had the start been made. The crest of the pass had just been reached, for on February 16, returning from a scout ahead, the lieutenant and Jacob reported that they had come upon a creek flowing west, toward the Pacific!
As they descended, seeking to travel while yet the night’s crust was unmelted, more plentiful waxed the snow, more difficult the trail, intersected by drifts and ridges. However, the lieutenant was convinced that the little stream discovered by himself and Jacob was the river upon which, lower, would be found the ranch of Captain Sutter the Swiss-American settler. The welcome sound of a thunder-storm in the valley, distant, drifted up to the company’s rejoicing ears; and when the storm had cleared, the sunset revealed a shining spot, as if denoting a bay, and a shining line, as if of a river, connecting with it.
The Valley of the Sacramento, and the Bay of San Francisco!
That night, to the yearning, keen-eyed wanderers so high above this spring-land, appeared in the valley numerous fires, as if in answer to the fires of the camp. Thereafter, by day and by night these fires were visible; but the Frémont and Carson men learned, later, that they were simply the fires of Indians in the swamps of the bay shore.
Ice and snow continued. Moccasin soles froze with slush, they would not cling to the snow or the smooth rocks, and their wearers must crawl. Once the lieutenant, reconnoitring with Kit, slipped into the stream, now almost a river, and without hesitating an instant Kit plunged into the icy water after him. The lieutenant thought that he had lost his gun, in the fall; but it was found, after they had made a fire, under the bank.