“I suppose you then came in a bee-line through Wyoming?” said Mr Rawlings.
“Oh dear, no,” answered the engineer. “We were doomed to execute a series of right-angled triangles all through our erratic course. From the Alkali Desert—or rather, Three Forks Camp, which was our halting-place—we made for the Rocky Mountains, so as to reach the Yellowstone River on this side. And that was where we had such a terrible time of it.”
“I expect so,” said Mr Rawlings; “the Rocky Mountains are no joke in winter time, for they are not easy by any means even in summer.”
“We lost a lot of animals and nearly all our baggage,” continued Ernest Wilton; “so when we got to Virginia City, on the Yellowstone, the majority of our party stopped there. I would have stopped too, I must confess, but a very energetic scientific gentleman suggested our pushing on, to explore some oil wells that were reported to be situated to the south of the Big Horn range.”
“I know that place well,” said Mr Rawlings eagerly. “The petroleum springs are by Poison Spring Creek, as the Indians call it.”
“Do they?” said Ernest Wilton. “We couldn’t see any creek at all; and even the scientific gentleman got tired out, and went back to Virginia City to join the others, and recruit, before investigating the mining districts of Montana. I was so sick of the lot, however, that I determined to push on to Bismark, and strike the line of the Northern Pacific, waiting till the spring came before I undertook any further exploring work.”
“And that’s how you came to us?” said Mr Rawlings.
“Yes. Two of us started to cross the Black Hills from Wyoming, along with the Indians who engaged to guide us. According to the map I had with me, our route would have been to strike the north fork of the Cheyenne River, and follow it up till it emptied itself into the Missouri, when we could have pursued the left bank of the latter due north, until it took us right into the town of Bismark, which is, I believe, the terminus of the railway.”
“Bless you! why it runs more than 100 miles farther west already,” said Mr Rawlings; “and if you wish still to communicate with your friends, who, I can perceive from your story, there is every reason for you to be pained at your separation from, why, you’ll be able to join them in Virginia City itself, in a short trip by the cars from Bismark.”
“Thanks,” said Ernest Wilton, appreciating the other’s sly allusion to those dear companions of his with whom he had so little in keeping. “As I will be within easy reach of them in case of need, I shall be all the better pleased to remain with you, as then I’ll have two strings to my bow! But, to finish my narrative:—the weather was so bad after we left the supposed site of the oil wells, that we could make no headway at all; and on our arriving at Fort Phil Kearney, which, to our mortification, was deserted, my solitary white companion, who had accompanied me faithfully so far, turned tail with two of the remaining Indians—of the Crow tribe, of course, rascally fellows, just like the birds from whom they are named!”