sun came out early and
made it comfortable, while a cool and tonic breeze, came down from the
great snow mountain the very thing to brace them up after a thorough
rest.

The slope to the east was soon met by a high ridge and between this and
the main mountain was a gentle slope scattered over with sage brush, and
a few little stools of bunch grass here and there between. This gave our
oxen a little food and by dipping out the water from the holes and
letting them fill up again we managed to get water for camp use and to
give the animals nearly all they wanted.

While waiting for the women Bennett and Arcane wanted to go out and get
a good view of the great snowy mountain I had told them so much about.
The best point of view was near our camp, perhaps three or four hundred
yards away, and I went with them. This place where we now stood was
lower than the mountains either north or south, but were difficult to
climb, and gave a good view in almost every direction, and there, on the
back bone of the ridge we had a grand outlook, but some parts of it
brought back doleful recollections. They said they had traveled in sight
of that mountain for months and seen many strange formations, but never
one like this, as developed from this point. It looked to be
seventy-five miles to its base, and to the north and west there was a
succession of snowy peaks that seemed to have no end. Bennett and Arcane
said they never before supposed America contained mountains so grand
with peaks that so nearly seemed to pierce the sky. Nothing except a
bird could ever cross such steep ranges as that one.

West and south it seemed level, and low, dark and barren buttes rose
from the plain, but never high enough to carry snow, even at this season
of the year. I pointed out to them the route we were to follow, noting
the prominent points, and it could be traced for fully one hundred and
twenty-five miles from the point on which we stood. This plain, with its
barren ranges and buttes is now known as the Mojave Desert. This part of
the view they seemed to study over, as if to fix every point and water
hole upon their memory. We turned to go to camp, but no one looked back
on the country we had come over since we first made out the distant snow
peak, now so near us, on November 4th 1849. The only butte in this
direction that carried snow was the one where we captured the Indian and
where the squashes were found.

The range next east of us across the