In central Utah the Old Spanish Trail turned short, and east and southeast ran down for Santa Fé. This would be the direct route for Taos and even for Bent’s Fort; but the lieutenant wished to visit a lake called Utah Lake, near to the Salt Lake; thence cross the mountains back of the Salt Lake and working over to the head of the Arkansas River, follow it down to Bent’s Fort. The Californians Andrés Fuentes and Pablo the boy decided to stay with the company, instead of going direct to Santa Fé.
So from the turn of the Old Spanish Trail the course was still northward, with the Wasatch Mountains (the same which skirted on the east the Great Salt Lake) snowy at the right. They were greeted as friends; good they looked to Kit Carson and the other mountain-men.
The Sevier River barred the way. In California a river, barring, had been crossed by means of hides removed from freshly slaughtered cattle and stretched upon sticks. The Frémont and Carson company now had no cattle left; but undefeated, out of bundles of bulrushes they fashioned sharp-pointed rafts.
At this crossing, of the Sevier River, central Utah, May 23, 1844, was killed by accident François Badeau, who shot himself through the head in drawing toward him his gun, muzzle first. He was buried upon the bank of the stream, and there are his bones, to-day. He, too, had paid the adventurer’s price, as well as, in his case, the price of foolishness. The muzzle of a gun always is dangerous.
Lovely Utah Lake unfolded to the view. It was the property of the Ute or Utah Indians, who made of it their fishing preserve.
Only some thirty miles to the north, and connected by a river was the Great Salt Lake where in the previous September the company had encamped. Therefore had they almost completed an immense circle of 3300 miles, and after nearly nine months they were within thirty miles of the starting point.
Nevertheless, they had not crossed the Great Basin; they had only skirted it, seeking an entrance. However, even the veteran Joe Walker could give little definite information upon that unknown interior.
“No, sir; I never have been into the desert, west o’ here,” he declared, to the lieutenant. “I’ve been in by north, along the Mary’s River, an’ I’ve been in by south, along the Spanish Trail; but not by the middle. The Diggers can tell little. But I’m pretty sure o’ one thing: there are no rivers flowing out, to any sea. The desert has its own system o’ lakes an’ rivers. It’s evaporation that drains the basin, an’ not outflowing. There’s no Buenaventura, sir.”
“I believe so, myself,” agreed the lieutenant. “I’ve prepared what I shall report; namely: ‘The Great Basin: four hundred miles long, five hundred miles wide, surrounded by lofty mountains; contents almost unknown, but believed to be rivers and lakes which have no communication with the sea, deserts and oases which have never been explored, and animals and savage tribes which no traveller has seen.’ Next time I hope to go into it, and fathom some of its mysteries. We shall be better prepared. A good place to strike next time is right through this gap of thirty miles; say by way of the south end of the Salt Lake.”