eading my blankets on the
snow and covering them with Indian matting, I turned in and slept
with that soundness and refreshment accorded by nature to one
exhausted by fatigue. When I awoke in the morning I found myself
under about two feet of snow, from which I arose with difficulty, yet
grateful that it had kept me warm during the night.

After a cup of coffee and a little hard bread, it was decided we
should return to the main camp near the Mission, for we were now
confident that Maloney was delayed by the snow, and safe enough on
the other side of the mountains. At all events he was beyond aid
from us, for the impassable snowdrifts could not be overcome with the
means in our possession. It turned out that our suppositions as to
the cause of his delay were correct. He had met with the same
difficulties that confronted us, and had been compelled to go into
camp.

Meanwhile valuable time had been lost, and the Indians, with their
families and stock, were well on their way to the Okenagan country, a
region into which we could not penetrate in the winter season. No
other course was therefore left but to complete the dismal failure of
the expedition by returning home, and our commander readily gave the
order to march back to the Dalles by the "short" route over the
Yakima Mountains.

As the storm was still unabated, it was evident our march home would
be a most difficult one, and it was deemed advisable to start back at
once, lest we should be blocked up in the mountains by the snows for
a period beyond which our provisions would not last. Relying on the
fact that the short route to the Dalles would lead us over the range
at its most depressed point, where it was hoped the depth of snow was
not yet so great as to make the route impassable, we started with
Colonel Nesmith's battalion in advance to break the road, followed by
my dragoons. In the valley we made rapid progress, but when we
reached the mountain every step we took up its side showed the snow
to be growing deeper and deeper. At last Nesmith reached the summit,
and there found a depth of about six feet of snow covering the
plateau in every direction, concealing all signs of the trail so
thoroughly that his guides became bewildered and took the wrong
divide. The moment I arrived at the top my guide--Donald Mc Kay--who
knew perfectly the whole Yakima range, discovered Nesmith's mistake.
Word was sent to bring him back, but as he had already nearly cross