Like a fool, I left Samson to tie the led horses in a string, while I did the same with the mules. He started, leading the horses. I followed with the mule train some minutes later.
Our troubles soon began. The two spare horses were nearly as wild as the mules. I had not got far when I discerned through the rain a kicking and plunging and general entanglement of the lot ahead of me. Samson had fastened the horses together with slip knots; and they were all doing their best to strangle one another and themselves. To leave the mules was dangerous, yet two men were required to release the maddened horses. At last the labour was accomplished; and once more the van pushed on with distinct instructions as to the line of march, it being now nearly dark. The mules had naturally vanished in the gloom; and by the time I was again in my saddle, Samson was - I knew not where. On and on I travelled, far into the night. But failing to overtake my companion, and taking for granted that he had missed his way, I halted when I reached a stream, threw off the packs, let the animals loose, rolled myself in my blanket, and shut my eyes upon a trying day.
Nothing happens but the unexpected. Daylight woke me.
Samson, still in his rugs, was but a couple of hundred yards further up the stream. In the afternoon of the third day we fell in with William. He had cut himself a long willow wand and was fishing for trout, of which he had caught several in the upper reaches of the Sweetwater. He threw down his rod, hastened to welcome our arrival, and at once begged leave to join us. He was already sick of solitude. He had come across Potter and Morris, who had left him that morning.
They had been visited by wolves in the night, (I too had been awakened by their howlings,) and poor William did not relish the thought of the mountains alone, with his one little white mule - which he called 'Cream.' He promised to do his utmost to help with the packing, and 'not cost us a cent.' I did not tell him how my heart yearned towards him, and how miserably my courage had oozed away since we parted, but made a favour of his request, and granted it. The gain, so long as it lasted, was incalculable.
The summit of the South Pass is between 8000 and 9000 feet above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The Pass itself is many miles broad, undulating on the surface, but not abruptly. The peaks of the Wind River Chain, immediately to the north, are covered with snow; and as we gradually got into the misty atmosphere we felt the cold severely. The lariats - made of raw hide - became rods of ice; and the poor animals, whose backs were masses of festering raws, suffered terribly from exposure. It was interesting to come upon proofs of the 'divide' within a mile of the most elevated point in the pass. From the Hudson to this spot, all waters had flowed eastward; now suddenly every little rivulet was making for the Pacific.
The descent is as gradual as the rise. On the first day of it we lost two animals, a mule and Samson's spare horse. The latter, never equal to the heavy weight of its owner, could go no further; and the dreadful state of the mule's back rendered packing a brutality. Morris and Potter, who passed us a few days later, told us they had seen the horse dead, and partially eaten by wolves; the mule they had shot to put it out of its misery.
In due course we reached Fort Hall, a trading post of the Hudson's Bay Company, some 200 miles to the north-west of the South Pass. Sir George Simpson, Chairman of that Company, had given me letters, which ensured the assistance of its servants. It was indeed a rest and a luxury to spend a couple of idle days here, and revive one's dim recollection of fresh eggs and milk. But we were already in September.
