“When do you calculate to make the trip?” queried Captain Walker.
“Next spring and summer. Kit has promised to come. Do you think you will be free, captain? We’ll need a good guide for the desert; I’d like to engage you.”
“I’ll do it,” said the captain.
Entrancing to-day is this Utah Lake, of fresh water lying blue between the snowy Wasatch and the hazy Oquirrh or Squirrel Ranges, with the Great Salt Lake showing silver sheen amidst the lowlands to the west of north. When on May 25 the Frémont and Carson company arrived, two villages of Utes were encamped by the lake, waiting for the fish to ascend into the rivers. These fish were salmon-trout, but not so large and so tasty as the salmon-trout of the Pyramid Lake, far across the desert.
Attractive though the spot was, the Frémont and Carson company must not linger; the Utes were greedy and troublesome, the trail yet was long, for more than a year the lieutenant had been cut off from news of home, well-nigh for a year Kit had not heard from his bride.
Under guidance of Captain Walker, up the Spanish Fork River which from eastward enters the Utah Lake they journeyed, and from the head of the Spanish Fork River north into the Uintah country of present northeastern Utah. Here, latitude 40° 27′ 45″, longitude 109° 56′ 42″, at the first forks of the Uintah River, above where it empties into the mighty Green, was the fur-trading post of Fort Uintah, whose owner, lean, swarthy Antoine Roubideau, or Robidoux, was a Taos man.
At Fort Uintah was enrolled by the lieutenant Auguste Archambeau, a Canadian Frenchman, who wished to go on to Missouri, and who enlisted as a hunter. Auguste speedily made himself a favorite, for he was well built, cheerful, and a mountain-man equal to Alexander Godey.
On through rich mountain country, along the borderline of northwestern Colorado and southwestern Wyoming, rode the company; as they went, feasting upon buffalo, for the hunters’ rifles were ever busy. In the morning of June 13 the Continental Divide of the Rockies was topped, and with a cheer all hailed a little stream trickling for the east. This was the Atlantic Slope of the continent; it was the United States.
Flowers bloomed, aspens quivered, grass and bush spread fresh and green, clear and cold ran the streams, and on every side grazed buffalo, elk, and antelope. South through the North Park of Colorado turned the march, and down into Middle Park, where rise the waters of the Grand River flowing west to join with the Green.
But although glorious appeared the landscape, and “fat” it was with game, Utes, Arapahoe and Sioux made of it a battle-ground; therefore the march must be cautious. Each night the camp was fortified; by day scouts were thrown out, ahead, from high places to examine the country.